


how's about cookin' somethin' up with me

by littlemissmeggie



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: A tiny bit of smut, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom!Harry, Cooking Class, Fluff, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Really just fluff, Strangers to Lovers, Top!Niall, use of a homophobic slur a couple times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-06
Updated: 2019-06-06
Packaged: 2020-04-11 23:03:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 40,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19119508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlemissmeggie/pseuds/littlemissmeggie
Summary: “Have you taken any classes here before?” asked Harry.Niall shook his head. “No. Me first time, actually. How about you?”“Oh, yeah,” said Harry with a nod, the curls next to his ears flopping with the movement. “I’ve been here loads of times.”“Yer not the one she talked about, are ya? Been here sixty-two times or something?”Harry blushed slightly—it was beautiful, really, thought Niall—and said, “Yes. That’s”—he shrugged and looked a little embarrassed—“I like to cook.”“Reckon ya do if yeh’ve been here sixty-two times,” said Niall with a grin.“Do you?” asked Harry. “Like to cook, I mean?”Niall gave a wry chuckle. “No. I’m rubbish.”_________When Niall decides he needs to learn to cook after his boyfriend of six years leaves him, he starts taking cooking classes at a nearby cooking school. He meets a shy young man who he soon decides is the most fascinating person he’s ever met. They form a friendship and eventually discover they have something a bit different than a shared interest in cooking in common.





	how's about cookin' somethin' up with me

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to everyone who supported and encouraged me while I wrote this fic! I hope you enjoy it and I hope whoever sent this prompt to the 1Drarepairfest reads this and feels I did the prompt justice!
> 
> Yes, I've written myself into this story. I'm a cooking instructor at a cooking school for home cooks called, you guessed it, Sur La Table. The prompt called out to me!
> 
> The title is taken from the old country western song "Hey, Good Lookin'", originally by Hank Williams and then covered by everyone under the sun.

“Good evening and welcome to Sur La Table! My name is Meggie and I will be your cooking instructor this evening,” said the girl standing in front of the group, the sleeves of her red chef coat cuffed up nearly to her elbows and revealing a number of tattoos. “We have two kitchen assistants with us tonight. Steve”—she gestured to an older man behind her—“and Aaron, who”—she looked around the room for a moment—“I think is on his break now but you met him when you first came in. My kitchen assistants are here to do all of the set-up. They help me with prep, keep an eye on things, and make sure the class runs smoothly. They also do all of the clean-up, so you will appreciate them. I always appreciate them because I was a kitchen assistant for four and a half years before I started teaching so I know they do all of the real work and I just play around for a few hours.”

Niall wondered if he was the only one who was nervous, only half-listening while Meggie talked about the snacks and beverages that they could help themselves to during class and telling them where the toilets were located.

He knew he shouldn’t be nervous. He was a terrible cook, yes, but these were classes for amateurs, home cooks who liked food and wanted to learn a few new recipes and pick up some new skills. This wasn’t a proper culinary school and he wasn’t being graded or judged.

Even still, he was nervous and he wondered if he was the only one. It seemed everyone else in the group was here simply to have a good time; the three middle-aged ladies next to him had come together and had a few bottles of wine and the couple on his other side had their own bottle. He was the only one who seemed to be taking this class seriously.

He turned his attention back to the instructor and listened as she talked about that evening’s menu and the dishes they would be preparing.

“Tonight’s a nice menu. Perfect for learning the basics, really, but we’ll focus on a lot of techniques so even if you’re a pretty skilled cook, you’ll maybe learn some new tricks you didn’t already know,” said Meggie. “We’re going to make a nice frisée salad with a red wine vinaigrette and we’ll poach eggs and fry some bacon lardons for topping the greens. Fried bits of rasher,” she explained. “For the main, we’re going to sear and roast a spatchcocked chicken and get a really nice, crispy skin. Then we’ll use the drippings in the skillet to make a simple white wine pan sauce. We’re also going to make sautéed haricots verts with shallots and almonds and garlicky mashed potatoes. Pommes purée, I’m sorry. We’re in France tonight.” She gave a crooked smile and continued. “And finally, dessert. A beautiful spiced pear galette with fresh whipped cream.”

It did sound like a nice menu, thought Niall.

It sounded like a lot and he hoped he wasn’t expected to know what half of it meant.

“Are there any questions before we begin?” asked Meggie.

Niall took a deep breath and raised his hand.

“Yes?” said the instructor, gesturing to Niall.

“Um, I’m sorry if this is a stupid question, but what’s a spatchcocked chicken?” asked Niall, grimacing apologetically.

“Not stupid,” said Meggie. “First time I taught a class with a spatchcocked chicken, I had to look it up because I’d forgot since culinary school.” She smiled and then answered the question. “Spatchcocking is when you cut out the backbone of a whole bird and crack the breastbone so it lays flat. Looks sort of like a toad, actually. It roasts a bit faster than if you just leave it whole. And because it has more surface area—well, more flat surface area—you can give it a good sear and get a crispy skin before you pop it in the oven to roast.”

“Okay. Thanks,” said Niall.

“Any other questions?”

“Yes. Sorry,” said Niall, raising his hand a few inches. “What’s a galette?”

“Don’t be sorry,” she said with a small smile. “It’s a freeform pie. It’s pie dough that is rolled out into a circle and then, instead of putting it into a pie plate or a tart tin, you tip the filling into the center of the dough circle and pleat the edges up to form the crust.”

“Okay.”

“Anything else?” asked Meggie.

Niall shook his head and, when none of the others in the group raised their hand, Meggie continued.

“We’ll work in two teams of four,” she told the class, pointing to the two groups of four cutting boards. “So I’ll have you put on your apron and name tag and then wash your hands at the hand sink. And once you’ve washed your hands, come and pick a cutting board and we’ll get started!”

Niall stood up and tied his apron around his waist. He scribbled his name in large letters on the name tag and stuck it to the front of his apron before following the three ladies to the hand sink.

Hands washed, he decided he didn’t really want to be the fourth in their group; he was here to learn and the ladies seemed to be here to chat and drink their expensive French red wines. He walked quickly to the other table, joining the younger couple he’d been sat next to and another young man he hadn’t noticed before.

“Hi,” said the other lad. “I’m Harry.” He pointed at his name tag and then added, “And you’re Niall.”

“Um, yeah,” agreed Niall, looking at the taller lad.

He was pretty, with full red lips and green eyes and wavy brown hair that probably needed a trim but maybe not; maybe it was just wild and unruly no matter the length.

“Have you taken any classes here before?” asked Harry.

Niall shook his head. “No. Me first time, actually. How about you?”

“Oh, yeah,” said Harry with a nod, the curls next to his ears flopping with the movement. “I’ve been here loads of times.”

“Yer not the one she talked about, are ya? Been here sixty-two times or something?”

Harry blushed slightly—it was beautiful, really, thought Niall—and said, “Yes. That’s”—he shrugged and looked a little embarrassed—“I like to cook.”

“Reckon ya do if yeh’ve been here sixty-two times,” said Niall with a grin.

“Do you?” asked Harry. “Like to cook, I mean?”

Niall gave a wry chuckle. “No. I’m rubbish.”

Harry didn’t get a chance to respond.

“All right,” said Meggie, stepping to her own cutting board. “We’ve got a bit of prep to do before we can start cooking anything. I’ve left several ingredients out there that need to be cut. I’m going to do a little knife skills demo, just sort of the basics. We do offer a knife skills class that’s two hours long. I always highly recommend it because even though it might not be the most exciting class since you only eat celery sticks and bits of carrots, it’s definitely the most useful. You probably don’t make croissants or galettes or ice cream every day but if you cook often, you probably use a knife a lot.”

She picked up her knife and showed the group the proper way to hold a knife, pinching high up on the blade with her index finger and thumb and wrapping her last three fingers around the handle.

“What?” said Niall under his breath, eyes widening. How had he made it past his twenty-fifth birthday without knowing the correct way to hold a knife?

Harry smiled and said, “I said the same thing in my first class.”

“This,” said Meggie with a grin, “is the correct way to hold a knife. People either look at me like I’m making it up or like I just told them the most surprising thing they’ve ever heard. I’ve got a good mix tonight. This grip is how the knife is designed to be held.”

She continued, demonstrating the proper way to cut.

“You’re not chopping. You’re not slicing back toward yourself,” she said. “You’re using this nice, smooth rocking motion.”

Niall did what she said, bringing his knife down and away from himself at the same time before lifting his hand so only the tip was on the cutting board and then dragging it back toward himself. He repeated the motion, slow and focused.

“It’s weird, right?” said Harry a bit later as they worked on cutting the potatoes for the mash, that same beautiful smile on his face.

“I’ve been doin’ it wrong me whole life,” said Niall. “And I didn’t know.”

“There was a lady in the knife skills class when I took it and she was probably, like, seventy,” Harry told Niall. “And she didn’t know. I think she apologized to Meggie a hundred times because she had a hard time getting the hang of it.”

“Remember, Niall,” came Meggie’s voice from behind him, “you want to pinch the blade. Don’t put that index finger on top.”

“Oh. Right,” said Niall, adjusting his grip on the knife.

“It takes a lot of practice,” said Harry kindly. “You’ll get it.”

“Thanks,” said Niall. He turned his attention back to the potatoes, trying his hardest to hold the knife correctly and remember his rocking motion and get the potatoes diced as evenly as he could.

A bit later, after they’d made their pie dough in food processors set up at Meggie’s station and had wrapped it up in clingfilm to chill in the refrigerator, Harry and Niall stood back at the tables. Aaron and Steve had swept in and taken away the dirty knives and cutting boards—Niall thought that was probably a good idea on their part because the ladies at the other table were already opening their second bottle of wine—and had set out little trays with all of the ingredients for their red wine vinaigrette.

“Did a proper job on them,” said Niall, sounding a little forlorn. He pointed at his sloppily minced shallots for the salad dressing.

“Oh, they’ll work just fine, Niall!” said Harry encouragingly. “It’s just a vinaigrette we’re making.”

“I s’pose,” agreed Niall.

Meggie’s voice cut in and she explained the process of making a vinaigrette, telling the group the method they were using tonight would help emulsify their dressing so the oil wouldn’t separate from the vinegar.

“Just whisk a little faster, Niall,” said Harry as he slowly drizzled the olive oil into the bowl. “We don’t want”—he stopped pouring—“See that ring of oil around the edge of the bowl?”

Niall nodded.

“That means I need to slow down my pouring and—”

“Yer already pouring pretty slow, mate,” Niall pointed out.

Harry tried to bite back a smile and said, a hint of teasing in his voice, “Yeah. So I guess you should whisk faster.”

“Is that a challenge?” asked Niall, a touch of teasing that bordered on flirtatious in his own tone. “Go on, then. Start pouring again.”

“Bossy,” said Harry with a grin. He resumed his pouring, drizzling the oil into the bowl while Niall whisked quickly.

“Good job!” Harry exclaimed a minute later, smile wide. Niall noticed dimples pressed deep into Harry’s cheeks.

He smiled back and said, “Thanks, mate.” He looked down at the bowl of salad dressing and whisked it a few times. “Shame about them shallots though.” They were not the same nice mince Meggie had demonstrated during her lesson earlier.

“They’re fine,” Harry assured him. “It just takes a lot of practice.”

Niall let Harry sear their chicken, afraid he would splash hot oil all over his fellow students, and watched as the other couple rolled out their pie dough for the galette.

When it came time to tip the pear filling into the centre of the dough circle and fold up the edges, Niall was content to watch Harry do it. He knew there was no way he could pleat the edges of the dough up around the pear filling as neatly as Meggie had done when she’d showed the group with her own mini galette.

“Come on, Niall,” said Harry encouragingly. “Why don’t you give it a go?”

Niall shook his head. “No, that’s okay. You do it, mate.”

“Come on.” Harry smiled that beautiful smile, the tiniest hint of his dimples on his cheeks.

“No, seriously. It’ll look rubbish,” said Niall.

“So what? That’s okay. It’ll still be tasty,” Harry insisted. “You’ll never learn if you don’t give it a try. At least do one bit.”

Niall looked at the lad, surprised by the eagerness he found on his face, and nodded. “Yeah, okay. One bit.”

He stepped to the table and folded one small edge of the dough over the filling, not quite covering all of the pears, and then moved his fingers a couple inches to the left and repeated the first step. He did it again and then pulled his hands back, looking down at the galette.

“The dough’s cracking at them folds,” he said, frowning slightly.

“If you just take your fingers and give the dough a little pinch, it’ll stick back together,” Harry told him. “The dough’s just getting a bit dry.”

“Are ya sure I haven’t ruined it?” asked Niall.

“Of course you haven’t ruined it,” said Harry, giving him a kind smile. “Just pinch those folds and it’ll all seal up.”

Once all of the dough had been folded and pleated, their teammate Sam brushed the crust with egg wash and his girlfriend Molly sprinkled it with coarse sparkly sugar.

“Looks nice,” said Meggie, reaching into the middle of the table to take the baking tray with the galette away. “Beautiful pleating. Don’t think we’ll have a hard time remembering which is yours.” She raised a brow and quirked her mouth in a half-smile.

Niall looked at the other tray she was holding and saw the other team’s galette; he’d had no reason to worry about his looking like rubbish because the other tart was cracked and oozing spiced pear juice, the dough folded unevenly over the filling. It didn’t seem the other team had even attempted pleating the crust.

“See?” said Harry with a grin, sounding as pleased as if he’d done it himself. “Beautiful pleating.”

“Ours would be leaking all that juice if you hadn’t told me to pinch them seams,” said Niall.

“You’re here to learn, Niall,” said Harry. “And you learnt to pinch the seams if the dough starts to dry out and crack.” He shrugged and added, “Besides, Meggie told them to pinch their seams and they didn’t listen.”

“I s’pose yer right,” agreed Niall with a nod.

“Of course I’m right,” said Harry with a grin.

At about half past eight, Meggie showed the class how to poach eggs, swirling a spoon around the shallow pot of simmering vinegar-spiked water to create a whirlpool before slipping a cracked egg into the pot.

“And when you take it out,” said Meggie, scooping her own egg out with a slotted spoon and tapping it gently on a kitchen towel, “you’ll dry off the excess poaching water and then just”—she tipped the egg off the spoon onto a plate filled with frisée—“drop it on the dressed greens and give it a good sprinkle of the bacon lardons.” She reached toward a plate piled with the thin strips of bacon they’d fried earlier and took a generous pinch, sprinkling them over the top of her salad.

Meggie handed Niall the spoon and he took it, feeling slightly nervous. He’d always thought poaching eggs was supposed to be tricky. He swirled the water and picked up a small glass bowl with his cracked egg. Carefully, he tipped it into the pot. He watched as the egg white swooshed around the yolk, forming a neat little sphere that turned whiter and more opaque as the seconds passed.

“Now remember, we’re just looking for the whites to turn solid,” said Meggie, “so the yolk will still be runny. Unless you want your yolk cooked a little bit more.”

Niall watched the egg intently, following its path around the edges of the pot.

“Should I stir it again?” he asked, realising the whirlpool had slowed down and the egg was moving toward the center of the pot.

“I think it’s probably done,” said Harry from just behind Niall.

“Yup, Harry’s right,” said Meggie, looking into the pot at the egg. “It’s usually perfectly cooked by the time it moves to the center of the pan. Unless you don’t get a good whirlpool going to start but yours was pretty strong. Three minutes does the trick.”

Niall scooped the egg out of the pot with the spoon and dabbed it on the kitchen towel. Gently, he tipped it onto his plate of dressed frisée and sprinkled the bacon over the top.

“So how was your first class?” asked Harry as they stood at their tables eating their salads a few minutes later.

Niall nodded and swallowed his bite of egg. “It was good. Helped I had a good instructor and a great partner,” he said, giving Harry an appreciative smile.

“Aw,” said Harry, looking quite pleased and almost flattered.

“Seriously, mate, I was dead nervous comin’ in and you made me feel a lot better.”

“Glad I could help.” He looked down at his salad, a blush tinting his cheeks. After another bite, he turned back to Niall. “Learn anything, then?”

“Mate, I just increased my cooking knowledge by one hundred percent,” said Niall with an amused grin.

Harry smiled and then gave a little giggle that he tried to stifle. “You weren’t kidding when you said you were a rubbish cook.”

Niall laughed. “No. I really wasn’t. I’m helpless.”

“Just keep taking classes and you’ll be a pro.”

It was when they were leaving, bundling up in their coats and hats, that Harry said, cheeks a bit pink and a shy smile on his perfect red lips, “Maybe- maybe I’ll see you here again. If you decide to take more classes.”

“Reckon I’ll be back for more,” Niall told him, Harry’s blush not going unnoticed. “And I reckon I’ll see ya again since ya practically live here, it sounds like,” he added, a teasing lilt to his tone.

Harry looked embarrassed for a moment. “It’s just fun,” he said defensively. “And I like coming.”

“Nothin’ wrong with that,” said Niall soothingly. “It seems like a good hobby and ya obviously like it.”

Harry smiled and slipped his mittens onto his hands—if that wasn’t the most adorable thing, thought Niall—and waved to Niall. “Well, good night. It was- it was nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet ya too, Harry.”

With one last dimpled smile, Harry turned and walked out the door.

Niall hadn’t expected to see Harry at his next class because he remembered that Harry had mentioned he’d taken the knife skills class already. Still, he was a touch disappointed that he didn’t have his own personal cheerleader encouraging him when his hand slipped back into his old grip on the knife or he forgot to rock the blade as he cut the vegetables that Meggie had set out.

So when Niall arrived at his third class, he was glad to see Harry already sitting in a chair with his apron on, name tag stuck to his chest.

“Niall!” he exclaimed happily. “You’re back!”

“Yeah, I’m back,” agreed Niall, smiling as he took off his coat and sat at the chair beside Harry. “Took that knife skills class a couple weeks ago.”

“Ooh, you did?” asked Harry, eyes widening with excitement. “That’s such a helpful class. It’s good you did it. How did it go?”

“It is helpful,” said Niall with a nod. “Reckon I did okay. Kept holding the knife wrong but I caught m’self when I switched back to the wrong grip. Just repeated ‘forward and down, up and back’ when I was cuttin’. I went so slow at first but I think I’ve got the hang of it now.”

“That’s so good!” said Harry, beaming. “I knew you would get it!”

“Yeah, you were right.” Niall was surprised by how proud Harry sounded; they’d only met once before and had only spent two and a half hours together yet Harry was more supportive and encouraging than some of the people closest to him had ever been.

Certainly more supportive than his ex-boyfriend had been. He wondered what that meant and wasn’t quite sure how to feel.

“Thanks,” he added, looking at Harry. “For- Just… thanks.”

Harry looked slightly confused, brows knit, but he gave Niall a crooked half-smile and said kindly, “You’re welcome.”

Meggie began her introduction, welcoming the class and explaining the evening’s menu.

“We’ve only got six of you tonight,” she said, “so we’ll do a group of four and a group of two.”

“Do you want to be the group of two?” Harry asked Niall eagerly when they stood up to wash their hands and find a place to work.

“Sure,” said Niall, smiling back at the grinning lad.

They washed their hands and made their way to the area set up for the group of two.

“Have ya ever made pasta before?” Niall asked Harry. “Like, from scratch?”

“I took a pasta class a while ago,” said Harry with a nod. “And I’ve done it a few times at home. I usually- I usually make a big batch and then, like, freeze it so I’ve got little bags with individual portions of”—he blushed and Niall wondered why—“portions of spaghetti or, like, or linguine or whatever to just, you know, cook for dinner.”

“So what are ya doin’ taking another pasta class if yeh’ve done it before?” asked Niall with an amused grin. “Not that I’m not happy to see ya again,” he added when he saw Harry’s blush deepening to a red, embarrassed flush.

“I- I’ve never made ravioli,” he answered shyly.

“Fair enough,” said Niall.

“The first thing we’re going to do,” began Meggie, “is make our pasta dough. It needs to rest for at least twenty minutes before we can roll it out and fill our ravioli.”

“Why don’t you do it,” suggested Harry as Meggie started to talk them through the process of making their pasta dough. “Since I’ve done this part before.”

“Okay,” said Niall, looking at Harry and noticing that he still looked embarrassed and almost sad. He picked up the little plastic cup with salt and added it to the bowl with the flour, using the fork to stir the dry ingredients together.

Harry didn’t say anything as Niall whisked the eggs in their little glass bowl and Niall felt a little uncomfortable.

“Ya know, I think it’s nice ya come to these classes so much,” said Niall, suspecting Harry had felt embarrassed when Niall had asked him why he was taking another pasta class. He looked at Harry again and saw that he still looked a bit sad. “I wasn’t makin’ fun of ya, Harry,” he told him soothingly. “I was just curious why ya were takin’ another pasta class. But I- It’s sweet that ya do this. Some lads are like me, can’t cook to save their life.” He gave Harry a little smile and said, “I bet birds love it when ya tell ‘em ya cook.”

“Oh, um, not- not birds,” said Harry, looking truly uncomfortable now. “I’m- I’m, um, gay.”

“All right. Lads, then,” said Niall. He didn’t want to think about how or why Harry’s confirmation that he was gay sent a little thrill down his spine. “I’m gay too, by the way.”

Niall could almost see some of the tension bleed out of Harry’s facial expression and body language.

“Oh,” said Harry, watching as Niall stirred the flour into the eggs.

“Is this- Am I doin’ this right?” Niall asked.

Harry nodded. “Yes.” He was quiet for a few moments and then said, “Is that why you’re learning to cook? So you can tell lads you know how to cook and, like, and impress them?”

“Hardly,” said Niall with a chuckle. “I’m learnin’ to cook so I can make m’self somethin’ that’s not box mac and cheese or frozen pizzas.”

“Oh,” said Harry again.

“Yeah,” agreed Niall. “Maybe I’ll do what you do now. Make loads o’ pasta and freeze it in little bags so I’ve got a fast dinner.”

“That would definitely impress- impress any lads,” said Harry, sounding a little nervous. “If you were trying to. Impress lads, I mean.”

“I’m not,” said Niall, dumping the pasta dough out of the bowl and onto the lightly floured counter. “Do you want to knead this?” he asked, looking toward Harry.

“I can- I’ll show you,” Harry told him, “but then you have to finish.” He gave Niall a playful smirk, though his pale pink blush gave away his shyness, and added, “I’ve already done it before.”

“Cheeky,” said Niall with a grin.

Harry’s blush deepened and he began to show Niall how to knead the pasta dough. “So you- you push it away with the heel of your hands like- like you’re stretching it. And then you fold it back, turn it, and do it again.”

“Right,” said Niall, watching for another moment before taking the dough and starting on it himself. “Stretch, fold, turn.”

“Yeah.”

“So how about you?” asked Niall, curious, though he wasn’t quite sure why. “Are you looking to impress any lads?”

Harry shook his head, the curls by his ears swaying with the movement. “No. There aren’t really- I don’t have any lads who, like, want me to impress them. Or anything. Like, you know, in that way.”

“That can’t be true,” said Niall doubtfully—Harry was gorgeous, fit, and, from what Niall could tell, kind and smart and funny—as he continued to knead the dough. “Yeh’ve not got a coworker thinks yer cute or a friend who maybe wants to be a little more than friends?”

Harry’s brow furrowed as though considering it for the first time and Niall wondered if he had ever thought about it. Maybe he was one of those people who didn’t pick up social cues that well or wasn’t very good at noticing flirtatious behaviours; he probably thought people were just being nice to him when they were actually flirting with him.  

“I don’t think so,” said Harry, brows still furrowed and sounding equal parts confused and thoughtful.

“Ya probably do,” Niall told him. He pressed the pasta dough with his index finger and watched as the dough sprang back up, the indent disappearing.

“That’s ready,” said Harry, pointing at the dough. “We should get some—”

“How’s it looking over here?” asked Meggie from behind Niall.

Niall pressed his finger into the dough again. “Um, I think it’s done.”

“Looks good to me!” said Meggie. She handed him a piece of clingfilm and said, “Now wrap it up so it can rest.”

“Do you know why I come to classes alone?”

Niall looked up from the ball of wrapped pasta dough. “Because none of yer mates like to cook?” he guessed.

Harry shook his head. “Because I don’t really have mates. Other than, like, my family. But they live in Cheshire. And I guess I’m kind of friends with some people at work but we don’t ever, like, go out and do stuff. Or even really hang out outside of work or- or anything.”

“Why don’t ya?”

Harry shrugged. “You should wash your hands.” He pointed at Niall’s hands, still covered in bits of floury egg, and added, “We’re supposed to start our sauces next.”

Harry was right, Niall realised as he looked around and noticed the other group was making their way to the stove, one last person washing up at the hand sink. “Right,” he said.

He washed his hands, thinking that Harry had managed to avoid answering his question. Maybe it had been a bit forward to ask, a little rude and maybe embarrassing and hurtful.

Niall joined Harry at the stove, their tray of ingredients for their tomato and pancetta sauce on the counter next to the hob.

They set about making the sauce, following Meggie’s instruction. Neither spoke, frying their pancetta and taking turns stirring their onions as they caramelized in the pancetta’s fat.

When the tomatoes had been added and they’d left the sauce to simmer, Meggie sent them back out to the table to make the herbed cheese filling for the ravioli.

“I don’t feel comfortable,” said Harry as they started rolling their pasta dough into long sheets.

Niall felt guilt stab at his chest. He hadn’t meant to make Harry uncomfortable; this was obviously one of his favourite places, somewhere he felt happy and comfortable, and he’d ruined it for him.

“Harry, I’m so sorry,” he rushed to say. “I didn’t mean to make you—”

“I mean,” interrupted Harry, “I don’t feel comfortable, like, going out with people or, you know, like, being in big groups.”

“Oh,” said Niall, suddenly understanding that Harry was answering his question from earlier.

Harry laid a sheet of pasta out on the counter and started to drop teaspoonfuls of cheese filling along the dough, evenly spaced. Without looking at Niall, he continued. “I never know what to say. In big groups. I’m not really- I’m not good at conversations. Like, I just- I don’t know when to say things or add to a conversation. And I don’t really- I don’t know what to talk about. To start a conversation.”

“Ya did fine with me,” Niall told him. “When ya met me the other week.”

“This is- It’s a bit obvious here,” said Harry. “And it was just you. I don’t really have to- I don’t really need to talk to anyone here. Other than, like, little bits of small talk about, like, what we’re cooking. It- It feels different.”

Niall supposed that made sense. It was a social situation but without the pressure of starting or maintaining a conversation; with Meggie giving instructions and answering questions, there wasn’t even time to have a proper conversation. Just bits of small talk about what they were doing in class, like Harry had said.

“You can do the water,” said Harry quietly. “Like, take your finger and- Here.” He dipped his index finger into a little bowl of water and traced a circle around the blob of cheese filling on the sheet of pasta dough. “It’s like glue. So when we, you know, when we put the other sheet on top, it’ll seal.”

“I thought ya said yeh’ve never made ravioli before,” said Niall, a little impressed with Harry’s knowledge because, unless he’d just not heard her, Meggie hadn’t even mentioned the water yet.

Harry blushed. “I haven’t but- but I read a lot of cookbooks. And, like, my mum always gives me a subscription to _olive_ for Christmas every year.”

“All right, then.” Niall smiled and dipped his own finger into the water, outlining each scoop of filling with water.

A few minutes later, Harry laid the second sheet of pasta dough over the bottom sheet dotted with filling. With gentle fingers, he showed Niall how to press all of the air out from around the dollops of cheese before sealing the dough and then cutting the ravioli with the little fluted cutter wheel.

“Aw,” said Harry as they spread their ravioli out on a tray dusted with flour. “They’re so cute.”

Niall chuckled. “They are,” he agreed.

“It’s different. Talking to you,” said Harry while they ate their ravioli a bit later.

Niall looked at Harry, curious. “Yeah?” he asked gently.

“Yeah,” said Harry with a fond little smile.

“Different good?” asked Niall. “Or different bad.”

“Different good,” Harry told him, that familiar blush creeping onto his cheeks.

Niall wanted to know why Harry felt it was different talking with him but didn’t want to push or do anything that might make him change his mind that it was different in a good way. He smiled back and said instead, “That’s good then.”

After they’d eaten their panna cotta and Meggie had thanked them all for joining her, Niall and Harry made their way to the coat rack.

Harry was bundled up first, the same mittens on his hands. “Well, good night, Niall,” he said, voice soft and almost wistful. “Maybe I’ll- maybe I’ll see you in another class.”

“Good night,” said Niall, pulling his hat onto his head. “Wait, Harry. Before ya leave, I thought”—he stopped himself from asking Harry if he could get his number, not wanting to seem too forward—“are ya taking another class?”

Harry gave an adorable giggle and said, “Of course I am, Niall. I’ve got- I’ve got my food-nerd reputation to uphold.”

Niall laughed. “I mean, did ya sign up for another one already?”

“Oh,” said Harry, understanding seeming to dawn on him. “Yeah. I’m doing the- the Spanish paella one on, um, on the nineteenth.”

Niall wasn’t sure what paella was but he wasn’t too worried about that right now. He had a week and a half to learn all about paella.

“D’ya mind if I join ya?”

Harry’s eyes lit up, his lips twitching up into a pleased smile. “Of course I don’t mind. It- That would be fun.”

“Good,” said Niall, smiling at Harry. “Yeah. I’ll see ya on the nineteenth.”

Harry beamed and Niall was breathless.

“Good night, Niall,” said Harry softly.

Niall spent the next week and a half in a state of excited anticipation, eager for his next class with Harry. There was something about the way they’d planned to take the same class that made it feel almost like a date. Niall knew it wasn’t, knew Harry wasn’t thinking the same thing, but he couldn’t help but feeling that it was a bit date-like.

When he arrived at the cooking class on the nineteenth, Niall found he’d arrived before Harry. He took a seat, placing his coat on the chair next to his to save the spot for Harry, and picked up the recipe packet. He’d read about paella and had learnt it was a rice dish.

“Hi, Niall.”

Niall looked up from the recipe for chicken and chorizo paella and blinked at Harry.

“Oh. Hey, Harry,” said Niall, smiling at the boy. He noticed a brown paper bag tucked under his arm. “What’ve ya got there?”

“I brought”—he blushed—“I don’t know if you like wine. But I brought a bottle of wine. If you do. It’s a Tempranillo from, um, from Spain and I thought it would be nice with paella. But only if you—”

“That sounds nice, Harry,” said Niall gently, cutting off Harry’s rambling. “I don’t know much about wine. Maybe you could teach me some o’ that too.”

“I don’t know that much about wine,” Harry told him. “I mean, just, you know, just what I read in the wine sections in _olive_.” He placed the bottle on the end of one of the tables and started to take off his coat, mittens, and hat.

“Ya still know a load more than me,” said Niall with a smirk. “Because I know there are whites and reds and, like, rosés or whatever. And not much more than that.”

“Oh boy,” said Harry with a playful roll of his eyes. “I’ve got my work cut out for me.”

Niall laughed and Harry smiled, dimples deep.

“Do you like wine?” asked Harry, finally taking his seat next to Niall.

Niall shrugged. “I like it well enough, I s’pose. Don’t often drink it when I’m with me mates. Usually pints with the lads. And I never order it when I go out for dinner because I don’t know enough about it and I don’t want to make a fool out m’self. But me mum always has some wine with dinner and I’ll have a glass when I go ‘round hers.”

“Does she live in London too?”

“No. Me whole family’s back in Ireland,” Niall told him.

“Do you go back often?” asked Harry.

Niall shook his head. “Not that much. Usually just 'round the holidays and maybe a week or so in the summer.”

“Oh,” said Harry, pouting slightly. “Do you wish you went more?”

“Yeah, reckon it’d be nice,” Niall said.

“I go home to Cheshire loads,” Harry told Niall.

“Thinkin’ I might go back for a visit soon,” said Niall. “Had a bit of a rough go a while ago and”—Niall sighed quietly—“Well, it would just be nice to see me mum.”

“I’m sorry,” said Harry, genuine and soft. “It always helps me to see my mum when I’m feeling down. You should- you should try to go soon. Or, like, whenever you can.”

Niall nodded. “Yeah. Think I might go in a few weeks.”

“Good,” said Harry with a kind smile. “That’ll- that’ll be nice.”

Class started a few minutes later, Meggie talking about the menu and explaining what they would be doing before sending them to wash their hands and find spots at the work tables.

“Where are you from? In Ireland, I mean,” asked Harry as they started chopping their vegetables for the paella’s sofrito.

“Mullingar,” Niall told him. “‘Bout an hour drive out of Dublin.”

“That’s nice,” said Harry. “I’ve been there once. To Dublin. It’s a nice city.”

Niall nodded in agreement. “Yeah. Reckon it is.”

The class continued and Niall and Harry kept chatting as the evening passed. Niall didn’t want to point out that Harry was doing a good job with their conversation; he wasn’t sure if Harry would be offended or might think he was being condescending. He also suspected that mentioning it would draw Harry’s attention to the fact that he’d been chatting comfortably and confidently and, rather than bolstering his confidence, would make him self-conscious and uncomfortable.

When their paella was finished and their salads were plated—shaved Manchego and chopped Marcona almonds sprinkled on top of the tossed greens—Harry opened the bottle of wine he’d brought.

“What happened?” he asked as he poured Niall a glass of the red wine.

Niall looked at Harry with a furrowed brow, confused by the question. “What d’ya mean?”

“You said- You said before that you had a rough go a- a while ago,” said Harry, suddenly looking embarrassed and a little nervous. “I’m sorry. It’s- That’s none of my business.”

Niall considered Harry for a few moments, watching as Harry became noticeably more uncomfortable as the seconds passed. Finally, he sighed and said, “It’s okay, Harry. It’s just- Me boyfriend and I broke up. Well, I guess he left me. It was sort of- I was surprised, to say the least.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “Oh, gosh. I’m- I’m sorry, Niall. I didn’t know.”

“O’ course ya didn’t,” said Niall, trying to calm Harry. “It’s fine. I mean, it’s total shite because we were together for six years. Met our first year at uni. Moved into our first flat together. Just- He was kind of me life for the last six years. Still tryin’ to figure out what to do without him.”

“Oh, Niall,” said Harry quietly. Niall looked at him and was surprised to see genuine sympathy and hurt on his face. “I’m sorry. That’s- I don’t even know how awful that must feel. I’m sorry.”

“Yeh’ve got nothin’ to be sorry for,” Niall told him. “I s’pose I’m past the heartbreak now. Nothin’ I can do about it if he says he doesn’t love me anymore. Can’t make him love me again and I can’t expect him to stay if he’s unhappy.”

“Yeah, but it still sucks,” said Harry quietly.

Niall shrugged. “It does, yeah,” he agreed, picking at the salad on his plate. “But I can’t keep thinkin’ on it and lettin’ it bother me. Now it’s just figuring out how to do the rest o’ me life. Don’t want it to be, like, ‘I can’t live without him.’”

Harry looked sad, red lips parted and eyes wide. He was silent for a moment before asking, “Is that why you’re learning to cook?”

Niall nodded.

“Well, that’s- that’s okay then,” said Harry. “You’re- Now you’re learning something new and, like, maybe that wouldn’t have happened if, you know, if—”

“Yeah,” said Niall with a small grin, hoping to show Harry that he understood that he was trying to cheer him up. “Get me out o’ me comfort zone a bit.”

“Maybe that’s- maybe that’s why it happened,” said Harry. “I believe everything happens for a reason. So maybe it was so you could try new things and, like, and- and- and—”

“Meet new people?” suggested Niall as Harry searched for his next thought.

“Yeah,” said Harry with a small shrug.

Niall smiled. “Make a new friend,” he added.

Harry’s eyes went even wider. “Me?” he asked, voice hushed.

“Course you, ya prat,” said Niall with a chuckle and fond grin. “Who else I been talkin’ to at these classes?”

Harry’s face split into a wide smile, dimples pressing deep into his cheeks. “Thanks, Niall,” he said.

Niall laughed. “Ya don’t have to thank me, Harry.”

They returned to their paella and the bottle of wine.

“Would you- would you like to do this again sometime? Maybe?” asked Harry suddenly, sounding a little nervous. “Like, you know, plan to do it instead of it just being a coincidence we signed up for the same class?”

Niall put down his empty wine glass. “Yeah. I’d like that, Harry. It’s fun, cooking with ya and then eatin’ together. Nice way to spend the evening.”

“Good,” said Harry with a relieved sigh. “I like it too. It’s- it’s nice. You’re really nice. And it’s- I think it’s easier for me to talk to you for some reason.” He blushed.

Niall smiled. It seemed Harry had realised his conversation skills weren’t as terrible as he thought. Maybe he’d feel a bit more comfortable and confident in social situations now. “I don’t think yer as bad at conversation as ya think ya are,” Niall told him.

“No. It’s- I think it’s you. You don’t make it feel, like- I don’t feel pressured and nervous when I’m chatting to you.”

“I’m glad,” said Niall kindly. “So what class are we doing next time?”

“Do you like Thai food?” asked Harry.

“O’ course,” said Niall with a crooked grin. “The spicier, the better.”

“We could do that,” said Harry. “It’s, um, it’s next week. On the twenty-sixth.”

“It’s a”—Niall caught himself before he said ‘date’—“plan. I’ll even bring the wine.”

“How about, um,” started Harry, “maybe I can, like, text you to give you, you know, to give you suggestions?”

“I could ask the bloke at the wine shop. They’re supposed to know what they’re doing, right?” Niall considered his words, realising that he would have Harry’s number if they went with Harry’s plan. “Or, yeah, you can text me. Practice your wine pairin’ skills. Impress me with your knowledge, Mr”—he paused because he didn’t know Harry’s surname—“I don’t even know yer surname.”

“Styles,” said Harry. “It’s Styles.”

“That seems fitting for a lad with your fashion sense,” said Niall with a slight nod.

“Thanks,” said Harry with a blush.

“Give me yer number, lad. I’ll send ya a text and you’ll have mine.” He unlocked his phone and opened to a new message before giving Harry his phone. Harry took it, typing his number into the recipient bar and then handing it back to Niall.

Niall took the phone back and typed a short message— _Hi Harry. It’s Niall !_ —before sending it to Harry.

“There ya go, mate,” said Niall. “Yeh’ve got me number so ya can tell me what kind o’ wine to bring next week.”

“Okay.” Harry smiled. “I’ll pick a good one.”

“I’ve got to warn ya, Harry. Now I’ve got yer number, I’ll probably be sending ya cooking questions all the time.”

“That’s okay!” said Harry, smile growing even wider. Niall couldn’t help but think that he sounded rather excited by the idea. “I love talking about food!”

Niall chuckled. “That’s good then.”

“And I like”—Harry blushed, smile turning shy—“helping you learn how to cook.”

Niall felt something fluttering around in his stomach; Harry’s bashful smile made him feel a little giddy. “I like that yer helping me. Makes me a lot less nervous than I was at me first class.”

“Good. You shouldn’t- you shouldn’t be nervous about cooking,” Harry told him. “Cooking is supposed to be fun.”

“I’m startin’ to see that.”

They said their goodbyes soon after, Harry waving a mittened hand at Niall as he walked down the street toward his Underground stop.

As Niall made his way in the opposite direction toward his own stop, several thoughts began to run through his mind, each fighting for his attention.

He liked Harry. Though he’d only met him a few weeks earlier and had only spent a few hours with him, only spent three evenings in his company, he knew he liked him. He was kind and smart, passionate about his interests, sweet, and funny when he allowed himself to be. Niall enjoyed spending the time they had together and was looking forward to the next time they would see each other. Niall knew Harry felt the same way too; Harry had told him that he felt comfortable with him and had asked him if he would like to do another class together.

Niall couldn’t deny that Harry was also incredibly attractive. With his wide green eyes, wavy brown hair, sculpted features, and plump red lips—those lips—Harry was probably the most beautiful lad Niall had ever seen.

But, as the other thoughts swirling around Niall’s conscious reminded him, he and Shawn had only broken up two months earlier. While he’d been serious when he told Harry that he was past the heartbreak, he was still getting used to being on his own; he and Shawn had been together for six years and had shared a lot of life experiences, had grown up and into their twenties together.

He didn’t want Harry to be a rebound.

But that wasn’t true. He knew Harry wouldn’t be a rebound. He was past the hurt and sadness. He was moving on, learning to be just himself.

He really didn’t want Harry to feel like he was a rebound.

Of course, he thought as he got up from his seat as the train approached his stop, it was very possible Harry wasn’t even interested in him in that way. Maybe Harry just liked spending time with him during cooking classes.

The best thing, he told himself as he stepped off the train and walked up to the street, was to just let whatever his relationship with Harry was unfold. Whatever it was destined to be—a friendship confined to the four walls of the Sur La Table kitchen, one that extended past the cooking school and into other places and activities, or perhaps a romantic relationship—should happen naturally, Niall decided.

He shouldn’t rush into anything just yet anyway.

It was three days later when Niall decided to text Harry.

He was in the middle of the canned goods aisle at Sainsbury’s, staring at the recipe he’d found on _bon appétit_ ’s website. It called for a tin of whole peeled San Marzano tomatoes but he’d not been able to find them.

 _Harry lad I need help !_ he typed, sending the message and following it with a second. _This recipe calls for San marzano tomatoes but I cant find them. What am I supposed to use instead ?_

He waited a few moments for Harry to respond before shoving his phone in his pocket and moving on with his list. He could go back to the tinned tomatoes when Harry finally replied.

Just as Niall was adding minced beef to his trolley, his phone dinged. He pulled it out of his back pocket and found a message from Harry.

_Hi Niall! You can just use peeled plum tomatoes. San Marzanos are just a special kind of plum tomato from Italy._

_Great ! so a tin of Sainsbury’s Italian plum tomatoes will work?_ asked Niall.

Harry’s response was immediate. _Yup! Maybe just add a little sugar to whatever you’re making because San Marzanos are a little sweeter than regular plum tomatoes._

_OK! Thanks Harry ! Your a genius._

_Not a genius_ , replied Harry and Niall could practically see his blush. _I’m just a food geek_.

_Nothing wrong with that!_

Two days later, Niall found himself with another cooking question. He was trying to bake brownies—a history teacher at the secondary school where he taught music technology was retiring and he’d offered to bring something for the little retirement party they were holding in the staff room on Monday—and had a question about the chocolate he was supposed to melt.

_Harry lad. This brownie recipe says to melt the chocolate in a double boiler and not the micro but i’ve not go a double boiler._

Harry’s response came almost immediately. It was a Sunday evening and Niall figured Harry was sitting on his sofa watching telly.

 _Hi Niall! You can make your own double boiler! Take a pot and put a little bit of water in it and heat it until it’s just steaming. Put your chocolate in a heatproof bowl like metal or glass and set it on top of the pot._ The first message was followed by a second before Niall could reply. _Just make sure the water doesn’t touch the bottom of the bowl or it’ll burn the chocolate. And don’t let it boil because if any water drips into the chocolate it will seize and youll have to bin it._

 _OK thanks harry !_ said Niall. Curious, he sent another message. _Why can’t you use the micro?_

_You can but it’s a lot easier to burn your chocolate or make it sezie. Like it goes past smooth and melted and gets grainy._

_Got it ! I’ll use the pot and bowl technquie. Thanks again Harry!_

_You’re welcome, Niall,_ read Harry’s response. _Do you have nuts or anything in the brownies?_

The recipe did call for walnuts but Niall didn’t really like anything in brownies except maybe chocolate chips so he’d planned to leave them out. He hadn’t thought that would matter but maybe he’d been wrong.

_The recipe has walnuts but I was gonna leave them out. Does it matter ?_

_No. I was just curious!_

The next day, Niall received a text from Harry just as he was locking up the music tech room.

_I think I found the perfect wine for tomorrow. If you’re still going to buy wine. But you don’t have to it’s ok if you don’t want to or something._

Niall rolled his eyes, a small smile on his lips. He knew he didn’t know Harry that well yet but he thought he knew him enough to know that that was a very Harry message—hesitant, unsure, unassuming.

 _Course I am mate. Said I would didn’t i?_ said Niall.

 _Yeah. Just didn’t want you to feel like you have to,_ read Harry’s text.

Niall typed his message, tapping send. _Don’t feel like I have to. I want to_

_ok good! You should ask the person at the off license for a bottle of off-dry Riesling._

Niall wasn’t sure what an off-dry Riesling was, what off-dry even meant, but if that was what Harry wanted, it was what he would get.

 _Great Im just leaving work so I’ll stop on my way home_ , said Niall.

🍷🍷 _!!! (the emoji’s the wrong colour because riesling is white but that’s ok!)_

Niall chuckled to himself, pushing open the side door that led out to the street. He was beginning to think that Harry wasn’t just the most beautiful lad he’d ever met. He was probably the cutest too.

He thought of Harry’s mittens and smiled.

Niall arrived at the off license near his flat a bit later. He walked in and looked around, spotting the older gentleman who ran the store by a rack of Malbecs.

“Excuse me,” he said, approaching the man.

“We’ll be getting more of The Tyrconnell in soon, lad.”

“Oh,” said Niall, blinking in surprise. Did he really buy that much whiskey? “I’m not in for whiskey today, though. I’m here to buy wine.”

“Got a birdie coming over?” asked the clerk knowingly, brows raised as he looked at Niall.

“Not quite,” said Niall, brushing off the man’s comment. “Got a lad sent me for a bottle of off-dry Riesling.”

“Ah.” He nodded and then, seemingly unbothered, mused, “Off-dry Riesling.” He led Niall out of the Malbec aisle and toward the white wines. “D’ya care if it’s German?”

“Um,” started Niall, unsure. Harry hadn’t specified whether it should be German or not. “Um, I don’t think so. Should I?”

“Well, it’s a white grape that originated in the Rhine region of Germany but it’s growing all over now,” the shopkeeper told him. “I’ve got a fun one for ya. Might like it. It’s called Kung Fu Girl and it’s an American wine. Washington state.”

They stopped in front of a rack of Rieslings and the older man bent to take a bottle from one of the bottom racks. He handed it to Niall and Niall turned it in his hands to look at the label. It was unique, with an interesting illustration and style that made it almost look like a typical sake label.

“It’s got a nice bit of citrus blossom. A lime taste and hints of white peach. Makes it really lovely to drink on its own,” the man told him. “But it’s got a long, refreshing finish and a bit of minerality that pairs nicely with spicy foods. Perfect for Thai, Chinese, the like.”

“That sounds good,” said Niall, nodding. “We’re cooking- We’re eating Thai. In a cooking class.”

“That’s the one then, lad. And under twenty, too.”

Niall brought the bottle to the till, paying the man the seventeen pounds and thanking him for his suggestion.

He stepped through the door and out onto the pavement, tucking the paper bag-covered bottle into his bag and pulling his phone out of his pocket.

He opened his conversation with Harry and typed out, _Got the wine !_

He made the short walk to his flat and unlocked the door just as his phone dinged. Entering his flat, he dropped his bag and the keys to the small dining table and took it from his pocket, finding a response from Harry.

_Ooooh good! What did you get?_

_Nope! it’s a surprise mr Styles!_ replied Niall. _Youll just have to wait til tomorrow !_

Niall put his phone down on the table and took the wine from his bag. He frowned at the bottle, unsure if he should put it in the refrigerator or not.

His phone dinged again and he looked down, finding another text from Harry.

 _Tease_ 😜

Niall smirked. He wasn’t sure—it’s so hard to tell when it’s just texting, he thought—but this seemed a bit like flirting.

 _Yeah yeah_ 😏 _should I chill the wine now?_

Harry’s message came a few minutes later. _No we can just pop it in the fridge when we get to class tomorrow._

 _ok sounds good!_ he replied.

A few hours later, Niall took a picture of the casserole he’d just pulled from the oven, filled with homemade macaroni and cheese. He sent the picture to Harry, adding, _Made my first batch of mac and cheese. No box ! Even made a bechamel and everything!_

Niall watched the little speech bubble under his message, the dots flickering as Harry typed his message.

_Niall!!! I’m so proud of you!! That looks amazing wow_

He bit his lip, pleased by Harry’s praise, and pushed down the impulsive part of him that wanted to invite Harry over for dinner.

Instead, he typed, _Thanks Harry!_ , sending the text before he could change his mind.

As Niall sat at his dining table eating his macaroni and cheese—he was quite proud of himself because it tasted as good as it looked—he wondered about Harry. He didn’t really know that much about him now that he thought about it.

He was from Cheshire. He liked to cook and read about food and wine. He had excellent, if slightly eccentric, fashion sense and was kind and smart. While he wasn’t necessarily shy, he wasn’t especially keen on traditional social settings.

And that, Niall realised, was about all he knew about Harry.

That wouldn’t do, he thought. If he and Harry were going to be friends, even if they only spent time together at cooking classes, he wanted to know a bit more about the other lad.

He wondered if Harry would feel comfortable going for drinks at the local or going out for dinner in a restaurant, somewhere they didn’t have a ready-made conversation about their class and what they’d just cooked for Harry to fall back on.

The next day, Niall rushed home from work. His staff meeting had gone a bit longer than he’d expected and he wanted to change; he thought that showing up to class in his suit, regardless of how casual a suit it may be, would make the evening feel a bit more date-like than it already did.

He’d also left the bottle of Riesling at home. He felt that bringing alcohol into a building filled with young teens may not be his best decision.

Dressed in something a bit more casual—dark denim skinny jeans with a long-sleeved, blue and white striped shirt and blue suede Chelsea boots—Niall grabbed the wine and left his flat, locking the door and making his way to the street below.

After a short ride on the tube, Niall arrived at Sur La Table just a few minutes before Meggie started her introduction.

“Sorry,” he said to Harry as he slipped into his seat beside the lad. “Staff meetin’ ran a bit long. Had to rush home and change. And grab the wine.” He held up the bottle of wine, still in its paper bag, to show Harry he’d not forgot it.

“I thought you were standing me up,” said Harry with a pout. Niall thought he sounded like he was trying to sound like he was joking but he could hear the undertones of genuine worry and disappointment.

“Course not, mate,” Niall reassured him. “Just running late. Should’ve texted ya to tell ya.”

Harry shook his head. “No. That’s okay, Niall.” A blush was spreading across his face and Niall was torn between thinking it was adorable and feeling badly that Harry had been nervous he wouldn’t show up; he was obviously embarrassed. “Just it wouldn’t be the first time it’s happened.”

Niall was shocked. Who would stand Harry up?

“Nah, mate. I wouldn’t do that to ya.” He smiled kindly.

Harry gave a shy smile and said quietly, “Thanks, Niall.”

Meggie did her introduction—Niall almost knew it by heart and he was sure Harry did but he supposed there were enough new people in the class that it was fine she had the same routine every time—and then sent them to wash up.

At the table a few minutes later, their bottle of wine in the refrigerator to chill, Niall and Harry stood side by side in their regular spots waiting for the rest of the class to wash their hands and find cutting boards.

“Has someone really stood ya up before?” Niall asked Harry softly.

“Um, a few times,” said Harry with a nod. “Yeah.”

Niall furrowed his brows. He couldn’t understand that. “Why?” he wondered out loud.

“I’m a little- My mum says eccentricity is a good thing but I’m not so sure she’s right,” said Harry by way of an explanation.

“I think it is. It’s endearing.” Niall told him. After a moment, he added boldly, “I think yer just lovely.”

Harry’s eyes widened as he looked at Niall, cheeks a bright pink and a stunned look on his face. “R-really?”

“Really.”

Harry looked flustered for a minute, fiddling with the little plastic cups filled with curry paste and palm sugar and various sauces on the trays at their table.  

“I think- I think you are too,” he said quietly, turning his gaze back to Niall but not quite meeting Niall’s blue eyes. “Lovely, I mean.”

Niall hadn’t expected Harry to say that. A stuttery, blushing _thank you_ , maybe, but not that.

He blinked and then said, sincere so Harry would know that he shouldn’t be embarrassed, “Thank you, Harry.”

Harry gave a hesitant, shy smile.

Niall wasn’t sure what to say next but was saved from worrying further when Meggie started the lesson, giving her standard knife demonstration before instructing the class to cut a variety of vegetables for their dishes.

“Now that we’ve got that bit of prep done,” said Meggie once all of the vegetables had been minced and sliced and diced, “we’re going to get started on our dessert so I’ll have you all come right up to the stove. We’re going to steam our sticky rice—it’s a short grain rice we’re using called sweet rice or glutinous rice—in our bamboo steamer.” She passed the bowl of rice around so everyone could see. “Now I’ve got this wok set up with a bit of water and we’ve got the steamer lined with cheesecloth so the rice doesn’t fall through the slats. If someone”—she looked around and saw that Harry was holding the bowl of rice—“Ah, great. Harry, would you do the honours? Just go ahead and tip it into the middle there.”

Harry did, dumping the rice into the centre of the dampened cheesecloth.

Meggie handed him a bamboo spoon and said, “Perfect. Now just use this to spread it around. And once it’s spread out, you can pull up the corners of the cloth to cover the rice a bit.”

Harry did as he was instructed and Meggie placed the top of the steamer on the basket.

“We’ll let that steam for probably about twenty minutes,” she told the class. “And while it’s steaming, we can start on the syrup that we’ll pour onto the rice once it’s cooked.”

Once the syrup—a combination of coconut milk, sugar, and salt—was finished and had been set aside to cool, Meggie sent the class on a fifteen minute break.

“Should we open our bottle?” Niall asked Harry as they moved back to their table. “Or should we wait ‘til we’re eatin’?”

“We could- We can open it now,” said Harry. “There’s- It’s a whole bottle so we can, like, have a glass now and then another with dinner.”

“Too right,” said Niall with a grin, nodding at Harry. “I’ll grab it out the fridge.”

“Okay,” said Harry. “I’ll, um, I’ll go get some glasses.”

A few minutes later, Niall had poured two glasses of wine—“Thank God it’s a screw top because I’m awful with corks. Always break ‘em,” he’d told Harry—and they took their first sips.

“This is really good, Niall,” said Harry, setting his glass down on the table. “Thank you for- for getting it.”

“It’s only fair,” Niall told him, a crooked smile on his face. “You brought wine last time.”

“Yeah,” agreed Harry, taking another sip of his wine. “This is a really good one, though.”

“Helps the bloke at the off license picked it,” laughed Niall. “I just liked the label. And the screw top.”

Harry giggled and Niall felt almost short of breath. He’d heard Harry giggle before but something about this particular moment had him stunned, breathless.

“The label is cool. Maybe I’ll- If you don’t mind, I mean,” said Harry, trailing off.

“If I don’t mind what?”

“Oh,” said Harry. “It’s a weird little- It’s one of my quirks I guess. But I, um, I collect wine labels that I like. That are, you know, pretty or interesting or just, like, different.”

Niall looked at Harry and wished he didn’t seem so embarrassed. “That’s cool,” he said. “What d’ya do with ‘em? Got, like, a book like them wine snobs do to prove they had a thousand pound bottle o’ wine?”

“No,” said Harry. “I- I frame them. And then hang them in my flat. Like art.”

“S’pose that’ll look pretty cool,” said Niall, gesturing to the bottle. “Where’ll ya hang it?”

Harry studied the label for a few moments. “Maybe in my kitchen. I have a few little sake bottles on a shelf and that sort of looks like- It looks like a sake label.”

“That’s what I thought too!” said Niall excitedly. “Great minds or whatever.”

Harry giggled again.

“So when’s our next class?” asked Niall as they stood at their table forty-five minutes later eating plates of pad Thai and drinking their Riesling. “What should we learn next?”

Harry looked up at Niall from his plate, that beautiful bashful smile that Niall had come to like so much quirking his lips, and said, “I’m really- I’m really happy you want to do this again. Like, with me.”

Niall smiled back. “O’ course I do, mate. It’s fun. Ya really are lovely.” Harry blushed and Niall added, “And yer making this whole learnin’ to cook thing a lot less intimidatin’. I was so nervous at the first class I took. Ya made me feel a lot better.”

“That’s good,” said Harry. “Cooking’s fun and I’m glad that- that I helped you be less nervous. Everyone should like to cook.”

“So what’s our next class then?” asked Niall again.

Harry reached under the table to the little cubby where trays of ingredients had been tucked away earlier in the class and pulled up a paper calendar of the upcoming classes.

“There’s, um, there’s a French Moroccan class next Thursday,” he told Niall, sounding a little hopeful. “And the menu sounds really good. But I don’t know if you like that kind of food so we could- we could pick another. There’s a- a barbeque class too. On Wednesday.”

Niall looked at the calendar, noticing that Harry had circled the two classes, and wondered if he’d been planning ahead to their next not-date or if he’d just been looking at classes for himself. He hoped it was the former.

“Moroccan sounds good,” said Niall. “I don’t know that much about that cuisine. Or, like, anything about it, to be honest.”

Harry giggled yet again and Niall smiled. He liked that little sound far too much.

“Okay. Good,” said Harry. “It’s- I love it. It’s really, like- I think it’s elegant but I don’t know if that’s right. Like, probably a real chef wouldn’t say that. But I think it is.”

“I’d like to try it,” Niall said thoughtfully. “See what I think. Even if I’m the furthest thing from bein’ a food expert.”

“Everyone can have an opinion, Niall,” Harry assured him. “Just like you don’t have to play an instrument to know what kind of music you like to listen to.”

Niall nodded. “That’s true.”

They ate and drank a bit more, finishing their pad Thai and starting on the sweet potato and coconut curry that Aaron had brought to their table.

“I’ll bring the wine next week,” said Harry. “We can- we can take turns every time. If that’s okay.”

Niall felt that was an assurance that they would continue with these not-dates. “Yeah, mate. That sounds like a good plan.”

Harry smiled. “Good.”

A bit later, as they were finishing up their coconut sticky rice topped with white sesame seeds and the mango slices Niall had managed to cut rather evenly, Harry asked, sounding almost timid, “Can I text you once in a while?”

Niall’s brows furrowed a little, surprised. “Course ya can, lad. Whenever ya want.”

“Even if it’s not about food or wine or, like, classes?”

“Yeah. O’ course.” Niall thought back to when Harry told him he didn’t really have any friends and wondered for the first time who he talked to when he’d had a bad day or was really excited about something or just wanted to vent. “Can tell me about yer bad day or a good movie ya saw or even just ya saw a cute puppy or something.”

Harry’s eyes lit up. “Are you sure you won’t mind?” he asked. “Like, it won’t get annoying?”

“Nah, lad. I won’t mind at all.”

Harry nodded as though trying to accept something shocking. “Okay.” He paused and then added, “You can too. Like, tell me about your bad day or good day or- or anything.” Musing more to himself than to Niall, he said, “Except you probably already have people you talk to about that stuff.”

“Can always have more friends to talk to,” Niall assured Harry with a kind smile. “Wouldn’t mind havin’ you as a good friend to talk to. I told ya yer lovely.”

Harry’s dimples cut deep into his cheeks, his smile wide, and Niall wished he could have taken a picture.

Or that he could make Harry smile like that a lot more.

“Thanks, Niall,” said Harry, shy and sweet and happy. “That would be nice.”

“Yeah,” agreed Niall. “It will be.”

When their sticky rice was eaten and their wine bottle empty, Niall asked Aaron for a paper bag so Harry could carry the bottle home.

“Don’t want you lookin’ like a wino, carryin’ an empty bottle ‘round on the tube,” joked Niall with a playful smirk, opening the bag and tucking the bottle in before handing it to Harry.

Harry smiled. “How considerate,” he said, smirking back at Niall.

“That’s just the kind of guy I am,” Niall told him with a chuckle and Harry giggled, smile wide and eyes crinkled shut.

They bundled up into their coats, Harry slipping his mittens onto his hands before tucking the paper bag under his arm, and headed to the door.

“I’ll see ya next Thursday then,” said Niall as they stepped out onto the pavement.

“Yup,” agreed Harry, nodding his head.

“And don’t forget the wine, yeah?”

A small grin broke across Harry’s face. “I won’t,” he promised.

“Have a good week, Harry,” said Niall. “And get home safe.”

“You too,” said Harry. “Good night.” He waved his mittened hand and turned away, leaving Niall staring after him, wonderstruck and smiling.

It was only the next evening that Niall got a text from Harry. He heard his phone ding and moved from his cutting board where he stood chopping potatoes for a batch of Guinness and beef stew to the opposite counter where his phone was plugged in to charge.

He opened the text and found a picture from Harry that showed the wine label from the previous evening’s bottle in a simple pastel green picture frame. It was placed on a little black shelf next to two sake bottles—one a pretty pink and the other a frosted clear glass—with a pair of intricately decorated chopsticks neatly arranged beside them.

_That looks brilliant!_

_Thanks Niall!_ came Harry’s response. _I thought it like tied it all together._

Niall enlarged the picture, noticing the intricate designs on the chopsticks were green and pink cherry blossoms.

 _It does ! The green frame looks good with the pink bottle and the flowers on the chopsticks,_ agreed Niall. _Are you like a decorator or like an interior designer or something? Because you should be._

 _haha I’m not but thanks. I don’t think anybody would pay me to do what I do_ , replied Harry. _I just read a lot of DIY home decorating blogs and stuff_.

 _Your an interesting lad, Harry Styles,_ typed Niall, sending the message. And here was his chance to find out what Harry actually did for a living. _Wait what do you do for a job ? I don’t even know we’ve never talked about stuff like that. Like unless you don’t feel comfortable telling me._

He watched the little dots flickering as Harry typed his answer, thinking that it seemed Harry had a lot of interests and realising he couldn’t even begin to guess what the lad did.

Harry’s response finally appeared at the bottom of the conversation thread. _It sounds like an old person job or something really like stuffy and stuck-up. I’m a tailor at Steed Bespoke Tailors on Savile Row. I went to the London College of Fashion at the University of Arts London and have a BA in Bespoke Tailoring._

Niall was surprised. He’d never have guessed that Harry was a tailor simply because he’d never really given much thought to the profession or the education and study required to be a Savile Row-level tailor. He knew the profession existed, of course; he’d been to a tailor to get his suit for his older brother’s wedding fitted, though it was just the local tailor in Mullingar and not someone as well-trained as a Savile Row tailor.

It just seemed such an obscure profession and one he’d never associated with young men.

 _Explains your fashion sense !_ said Niall. _I guess I do think of older, like, distinguished men doing tailoring but not in a stuffy or stuck-up way. Just the only tailor I’ve ever been to was like 60._

 _Yeah. That’s what most people think_ , responded Harry.

 _It’s not bad or anything! Just don’t think of 20-somethings who wear baggy trousers and band shirts covered with a hundred tattoos as a Savile Row tailor_ , typed Niall quickly, rushing to explain that he didn’t mean anything negatively before Harry started to think he was ridiculing him or poking fun at his profession.

_Well I don’t dress like that at work, Niall! I wear suits there._

And yeah, that made a lot more sense, realised Niall. He didn’t wear his work clothes to their cooking classes either.

 _What do you do for a job, Niall?_ asked Harry.

 _I teach music technology at the City of London school. And i organise all of the extra-curricular music programmes,_ answered Niall. _I went to UAL too. Studied Sound Arts and Design at the London College of Communication._

Harry’s response came right away. _No way! When did you graduate? I mean i know we were different colleges but still?!_

 _2015_ , replied Niall. _You?_

_Same! Our ceremonies were probably like the same day but just in different places!_

Niall grinned at his phone. He didn’t even have to see Harry’s face to know how he was smiling, that his eyes were crinkled at the corners and his dimples were pressed deep into his cheeks.

 _Yeah probably lol_ , he responded.

Niall found himself thinking about Harry a lot over the next few days and not just because they texted each other on and off throughout the day each day.

He’d got to know Harry a bit more through their chats—Niall suspected Harry felt more comfortable having conversations via text messages then he did face-to-face because he didn’t have to respond right away, could wait until he’d thought of the best response before he sent a message to Niall—and really had come to like him even more than he already did.

Harry, Niall thought, was fascinating. He had so many varied interests and pursued each of them, whether that meant taking seventy cooking classes to learn more about food and different cuisines, signing up for a course about tea with a world-renowned tea blender at his library, reading every book about the Cosa Nostra he could get his hands on, or working his way through every art museum London had to offer.

 _I might go to the Freud museum next Saturday_ , Harry told Niall one evening as he was cooking dinner.

 _Didn’t know there was a Freud museum_ , said Niall.

 _Yeah it’s Freud’s home in London. I’ve never been but there’s a Dali exhibition on until the end of the month and I’ve got really into surrealism lately_ , came Harry’s response. _I love Dali._

 _Do you think he painted the swans or the elephants first?_ asked Niall.

_OMG I did Swans Reflecting Elephants as a jigsaw puzzle and I thought that the whole time! everyone i’ve ever asked that question thinks it’s so weird I’m so happy you asked it!_

Niall chuckled and continued making himself dinner.

He wondered if maybe Harry would like company at the Freud Museum but then thought perhaps Harry preferred to do things on his own.

 _Think it was probably the swans but who knows. Bloke’s dead now so we can’t ask him_ , said Niall.

A few days later, amid their near-constant back-and-forth of texts, Harry asked Niall a question that truly surprised him, one he knew Harry wouldn’t have felt comfortable to ask Niall in person.

_Why did your boyfriend break up with you?_

Niall barely had time to think about Harry’s question or begin to form a proper answer when he received a second message.

_I’m sorry that’s so inappropriate to ask I shouldn’t have asked. It’s none of my business._

Niall frowned. He wasn’t bothered that Harry had asked. As far as he was concerned, Harry was his newest close friend and there was no reason for him not to talk about Shawn or their break up.

 _It’s not inappropriate. Your my friend and I’ve talked to my friends about it_ , responded Niall.

 _I just shouldn’t have asked. I’m sorry,_ replied Harry. _I just don’t understand why someone would break up with you_

Niall blinked in surprise, shocked by Harry’s straightforward response. It seemed too bold for the lad.

 _He said he didn’t love me anymore and that he didn’t feel he could relate to me because of how much we’d grown apart,_ answered Niall.

Harry’s text popped up a few minutes later. _Did you feel that way too?_

 _No,_ replied Niall. _Didn’t see it coming at all actually._

_I’m sorry._

A month ago, Niall thought, Harry’s question—the emotions Harry’s question would have stirred up—would have upset him, would have caused him to listen to Roger Miller’s “The Last Word In Lonesome Is Me” on repeat for an hour while he drank some whiskey and searched through his flat for anything that reminded him of Shawn so he could throw it away.

He found that it didn’t upset him now.

Maybe that meant he was finally over Shawn, had finally moved on. He’d started to live his life without Shawn and had found other ways to occupy himself, to feel fulfilled, to care for himself emotionally and physically; he didn’t need Shawn to make him happy, to hold him when he was sad, to cook him dinner, to ask him about his day.

Maybe Harry had been right when he’d said that everything happens for a reason. He’d learnt new skills, found new interests, met new people, and made a new friend.

 _Don’t be. I’m ok now,_ said Niall, realising he truly meant it. _Took some time to be able to say that but I’m ok_

_Good. I’m glad!_

Niall chose not to mention that he suspected Harry had something to do with that.

Two days later brought their next cooking class and Niall was filled with a nervous excitement all day. It seemed a bit different now that he knew more about Harry.

It seemed more like a date and he tried not to think about it too much because it wasn’t a real date and he didn’t want to let himself get swept into thinking or feeling that it was anything more than two friends enjoying an evening together.

Niall rushed home from work, glad there hadn’t been a staff meeting that had run long because he didn’t want to be late meeting Harry like he’d been the week before, and changed into grey trousers and an old Bruce Springsteen tour tee that had been his dad’s in the eighties.

He left his flat and headed to the Underground, taking the train to the stop closest Sur La Table and walking the last few blocks to the cookery school.

Niall walked into the kitchen and found he was the first one there. Looking around, he noticed only two chairs had been set with the usual recipe packets and aprons. He turned around and saw Aaron walking into the kitchen, a stack of aprons and towels in his arms.

“Hey, mate,” he greeted Niall. He dumped the stack of linens onto the empty work table and said, “Just you and Harry tonight.”

“Oh. Brilliant,” said Niall, trying not to think about how much more date-like that made the evening feel. “Like a private class tonight.”

“Basically,” agreed Aaron.

Harry arrived a few minutes later, smiling at Niall and then, eyes wide as he noticed there were only two cutting boards set out, said, “Is it just us?” He placed a paper bag on the table and started to undo his jacket.

Niall nodded. “Yeah. Like a- like a private class tonight,” he repeated.

Harry blushed, fumbling with the buttons on his jacket, and Niall wondered if he was thinking the same thing as him.

“It’ll be great,” said Niall, hoping to reassure Harry. “We’ll have fun. Got our wine, yeah?”

“Y-yeah,” said Harry, finally unbuttoning his jacket and dropping it to his chair. “It’s- I brought a Syrah from Morocco so it should go with the- it should go nicely with the tagine.”

“Syrah’s red, right?”

“Yeah,” Niall told him, nodding. “It probably won’t go well with the dessert though.”

“Guess we’ll just have to drink it all with the starters and mains then,” said Niall with a cheeky grin.

Harry smiled. “I guess so.”

Meggie walked into the kitchen a few moments later.

“Hey, lads!” she said cheerfully. “I was happy when I saw your names on the roster. It’s always nice to see both of you.”

“Well, we really like comin’,” said Niall.

“Glad to hear that. Now, are you ready? Suppose we can get started since it’s just the two of you,” said Meggie.

“May as well,” agreed Niall. “Ya still going to do yer whole intro even though we both know it by heart?”

Meggie grinned. “Cheeky,” she said. “I think I can skip it tonight. You lads know the deal. I’ll just talk about the menu before we start and then we’ll get up and get to work!”

“Sounds all right.” Niall looked up at Harry from where he sat in his chair. “Should we sit?”

“Yeah, you can sit for now. I’ll tell you what we’re cooking,” Meggie told him, “and I know you’ll have a question or two before we get started.”

Harry took his seat and Meggie started, discussing the menu—a lamb and harissa tagine, couscous studded with dried fruit and nuts, roasted cauliflower with a spiced yogurt sauce, and cream puffs filled with rosewater cream and drizzled with honey—and explaining tagines, couscous, and the influence the French colonization had on the cuisine of Morocco.

“What’d you bring for wine, Harry?” asked Meggie as the two lads got up to put on their aprons and wash their hands.

“It’s, um, a Moroccan red. Syrah,” Harry told the young woman. “It’s called Tandem.”

“Wow,” said Meggie, looking slightly impressed. “Moroccan wines aren’t easy to find. Not just at your local off license, are they?”

“Oh. Um, no,” said Harry. “But I have- There’s someone who gets it for me.”

Niall looked at Harry, brows raised, intrigued. Harry really was very interesting.

“Yeh’ve got someone special gets ya Moroccan wines?” he asked, watching as Harry’s cheeks turned a pretty pink.

“It’s a- There’s a wine importer I know. He mainly imports French wines but, um, Tandem is a collaboration between a Moroccan winemaker and a- a really well-known French winemaker so he gets small shipments of that too.”

“Ya know a wine importer?” asked Niall, even more intrigued now.

“Well, it’s not like we’re friends,” said Harry, pushing up his sleeves to wash his hands. “I made- I made a few suits for him and, like, when I was taking his measurements and everything we talked about wine. He comes round and brings me a bottle once in a while.”

“Harry Styles, you are fascinating,” Niall told him, grinning at the lad.

“Not really,” said Harry, blush turning a dusty rose.

Niall shrugged. “I think you are.”

“Eccentric,” said Harry. “That’s what- I think that’s what most people think.”

“If bein’ eccentric is what makes ya fascinating, then sure. Ya can be both.” Niall shrugged again. “I like it. Makes ya different from most lads.”

Harry smiled bashfully. “Thanks, Niall.” He bit his lip as though trying to decide if he should say his next words and then, a moment later, said, “You’re nice to me. That- that makes you different from most lads. At least”—he shook his head slightly—“Thanks.”

Niall wondered what he’d been about to say before he cut himself off.

“All right, lads,” said Meggie from where she stood at her work station. “We’ve got a bit of prep to do before we can get started cooking so if you could get to your cutting boards, we can start.”

Harry blinked, looking as though he’d just remembered where they were, and nodded. He walked toward the table and Niall followed, standing opposite Harry at his own cutting board.

“Right. I won’t do my whole knife skills demo since you’ve both seen it a hundred times and probably know it by heart,” said Meggie, raising an eyebrow at Niall as she recalled his words from earlier. “But we’ve got some vegetables to cut and dried fruits to chop before we can start our tagine and rice.”

They started in on their prep, making quick work of it between themselves, and then stepped back to let Aaron clear their dirty cutting boards and knives.

“Yer welcome, Harry,” said Niall as Harry opened their wine.

“What?” asked Harry, brows knit with mild confusion as he looked up at Niall from the corkscrew in his hand.

“Don’t know why I wouldn’t be nice to ya,” mused Niall. “Told ya yer a lovely lad. But yer welcome.”

Harry stared at Niall for a moment before turning his focus back to the bottle and the cork. “Just you’re the only lad who didn’t stand me up.”

It was Niall’s turn to look confused. “What?”

“I told you I don’t go out very often. Like, with other people,” said Harry awkwardly, still working on the cork. “I do stuff alone all the time. I like it that way because then nobody can stand you up.”

Niall felt his heart breaking, breath feeling heavy in his chest.

“Whenever”—Harry slid two glasses toward himself and filled them with the red wine—“whenever I’ve invited someone to do something with me or, you know, like, go somewhere with me, they- they stand me up.”

“Why?” asked Niall gently.

“Most people- I think most people don’t want to do the, um, the eccentric things I like,” said Harry with a shrug, picking up his glass of wine and taking a sip. “Nobody wants to go to a cooking class or the Freud Museum with me.”

Niall studied Harry’s face, noticing his blush and how sad and disheartened he looked.

“Ya got a museum picked for this weekend?” asked Niall.

“Not- not yet,” said Harry, shaking his head.

“Well, ya let me know when ya do, yeah,” Niall told him, “and I’ll meet ya there.”

Harry looked at Niall, a look on his face that Niall thought managed to combine doubtful and hopeful in one expression. “You’d go to an art museum with me?”

Niall shrugged. “I’d go to any museum with ya. Was going to ask ya if I could join ya at Freud but I thought maybe ya like to do things alone better.”

Harry blinked in surprise, shock painting his facial expression now. “I do- I do like to do some things alone. Better. But, like, some things I wish- I’d like to have someone else to do things with me.”

“Works out for both of us, then,” said Niall. “Just tell me whenever ya want someone to do something with and I’ll come along.”

Harry smiled, so happy, and Niall found himself wishing again that he could make him smile like that a lot more often.

“We’ve got everything set up to start our tagine so I’ll have you lads join me at the stove,” said Meggie. “You can bring your wine with you if you’d like.”

Harry and Niall joined Meggie at the stove, listening as she explained the process and following her step-by-step instructions to start their lamb tagine.

“While we let that cook, we can boil our cauliflower,” Meggie told them.

“I thought we were roastin’ it,” said Niall, frowning slightly with furrowed brows.

“We are,” said Meggie, “but we’re going to boil it first in salted water to give it a bit of a head start. It’ll also ensure that it’s not just seasoned on the outside but all the way to the core too.”

“Are we going to shock it?” asked Harry. “Like when you blanch broccoli or green beans?”

Meggie shook her head. “No. Since we want it to keep cooking and we’re not worried about it losing its colour, we’ll actually take it out and put in on a cooling rack. It’ll keep cooking a bit—”

“Carry-over cooking?”

“Exactly, Niall,” said Meggie. “Carry-over cooking. And it’ll dry as it steams on the rack so it won’t be soggy after we roast it. Similar to letting potatoes steam dry after you’ve drained them when you’re making a mash.”

“That’s- that’s very clever,” said Harry.

“Not my idea but I wish it was,” said Meggie. “It is very clever.”

Niall frowned again. “Maybe a stupid question but why won’t it be soggy if we let it dry?”

“Not a stupid question,” Meggie assured him. “If we just took it out of the water and popped it straight in the oven, the residual moisture would just steam the cauliflower. If we let it dry, there won’t be enough moisture to create steam so it will crisp up and brown instead.”

“Got it,” said Niall.

Cauliflower boiled, dried, and seasoned with a combination of spices, they placed the baking tray in the oven and went back to their tables to put the yogurt sauce together.

“I think I’d like to go to the Tate Modern on Saturday,” said Harry as he watched Niall whisk the spices and seasonings into the yogurt. “There’s a Dorothea Tanning exhibition on that just started. Unless you don’t want to do that. I can choose a different museum.”

“That sounds good, Harry,” said Niall with a smile, looking up from the bowl of sauce. “But ya don’t have to worry about what I like. It’s yer decision. I just want to keep ya company. Give ya someone to talk to about whatever paintings and sculptures and photographs yer seein’.”

“But do you like Dorothea Tanning?” asked Harry, still sounding concerned about his choice.

“Don’t know, if I’m bein’ honest,” said Niall. “But there’s only one way to find out, isn’t there?”

Harry shrugged. “I guess.”

“It’ll be good. I’ll learn some more new stuff. See somethin’ new,” Niall told him. “I think yer really interestin’, Harry. You can show me whatever ya want. If it matters to you, then it matters to me.”

Harry’s jaw dropped and his eyes grew wide, looking like a little kid on Christmas morning. “Thank you, Niall,” he said softly, almost awed.

Niall gave Harry a fond smile, just as soft as Harry’s whispered words, and said, “Yer welcome, love.”

Harry blushed and then asked, “Should we taste the yogurt?”

“Yup,” said Niall, taking two small plastic spoons from the container on the table and handing one to Harry. “Only I don’t know what it’s s’posed to taste like so you’ll have to let me know if it’s all right.”

Harry dipped the tiny tasting spoon into the bowl with the spiced yogurt and scooped a bit of the sauce onto the plastic. He tasted it and said, “It needs more salt. And maybe some more lemon juice. You should taste it so- so you can see too.”

Niall took his own spoon and tasted the sauce. “I guess. Probably could use some more salt.”

Harry took a generous pinch of salt from the ramekin on the table and sprinkled it into the bowl, taking the whisk and mixing the salt in. He took another bite and said, “That’s better. But maybe still some more lemon juice.”

Again, Niall took a spoonful of the sauce and said, “Wow. That did make a difference. Like, I can taste the- the coriander? I think it’s the coriander anyway. But I can taste it more now.”

Harry smiled, pleased at Niall’s correct assessment, and said, “Yeah. It’s- it is the coriander.”

“What do you think?” asked Meggie, walking toward their table from the oven. “Need anything?”

“We added some salt,” Niall told the instructor, “and it brought out the coriander. Harry said maybe some more lemon juice.”

“Lemon juice? Yeah,” said Meggie, turning back to her own counter and grabbing a small bowl of lemon juice, the handle of a tablespoon sticking over the lip of the bowl. “How are the spices? Other than the coriander?”

Harry filled the tablespoon half-full and drizzled the juice into the bowl with the yogurt. “It’s not- Is it supposed to have any heat? Because it’s not very spicy.”

“Up to you,” said Meggie. “Remember we seasoned the cauliflower with a good bit of Aleppo pepper and paprika. Adding a lot of spice to the yogurt would take away the contrasting cool that it’ll give to the dish.”

“That’s true,” said Harry. “So, like, so maybe it’s good like this?” He took another spoon and tasted the yogurt sauce again. “That’s- I think that’s good. Niall?”

Niall tried another taste and nodded. “Yeah. That’s good. I like that.”

“Good!” said Meggie. “Just hand it to me, yeah, and I’ll pop it in the fridge for now.”

Harry gave her the bowl and she moved to the refrigerator, opening the door and looking for a place. “If I can find a spot for it,” she mumbled.

After a few moments spent rearranging the contents of the refrigerator, she managed to put the bowl of yogurt sauce into the fridge.

“Well, okay. Now that I’ve got that straightened out, let’s get to the couscous, shall we?” she said with a smile.

While Harry and Niall stood eating their lamb tagine and studded couscous a while later, Harry looked across the table at Niall.

“Will you really go to the Tate with me on Saturday?” he asked, sounding almost insecure and unsure.

“Course I will, mate,” said Niall firmly, hoping it would assure Harry that he truly wanted to go to the museum with him.

“Promise you won’t stand me up?” said Harry with a forced smile, like he was trying to appear like he was joking but was actually expressing a genuine concern.

“I promise,” Niall told him. “I like spending time with ya. Reckon it’ll be fun to do something outside this kitchen with ya. And I’d like to see some new art.”

Harry exhaled. “Good,” he said. “I like- I like spending time with you too. You’re nice and, like, you’re my friend. I think. Unless, you know, unless you don’t want to be my friend.”

It was almost childlike, reminding Niall of a child on the playground asking another child if they wanted to be their friend. He felt a pang in his chest.

“Already thought we were friends, if I’m bein’ honest,” said Niall with a kind smile. “I call ya my friend Harry when I talk about ya.”

“You- you talk about me? To, like, other people?” Harry sounded surprised.

“Yeah, Harry,” Niall told him. “I enjoy our time together.”

“Good. Yeah. Me too.” Harry sounded absolutely delighted.

“So. Dorothea Tanning,” said Niall after a few moments of silence. “Surrealism?”

“Yeah,” said Harry excitedly, launching into a lesson on the artist and her work.

Niall listened, sipping the last of his wine while Harry talked.

He decided he really liked listening to Harry talk about things that excited him. It was enjoyable, really, to listen to his slow speech, meandering and weaving but so very smart and interesting.

Aaron cleared their plates and brought around their rosewater cream puffs.

“Wow,” said Niall, looking at the large cream puff on his plate, drizzled over with golden honey and sprinkled with toasted pistachios. “Hard to believe we made those. Look like they could’ve come from a proper pastry shop.”

“No, you made them,” Harry reminded him, always encouraging and supportive. “I just stirred the flour into the melted butter. You finished the pâte à choux. And piped it.”

“Yeah,” agreed Niall, a little surprised at the realisation that he’d made cream puffs. “Reckon I did.”

Meggie stepped to the table, two small teacups in her hands. “Sweet mint tea,” she said, placing the cups on the table in front of Harry and Niall. “It’s served at the end of the meal in Morocco. How were the tagine and the couscous?”

“They were both really excellent,” said Harry. “Thank you.”

“Yeah. This is me first time havin’ Moroccan food and it’s so good.”

Meggie smiled. “I love when people come to classes to try a cuisine or a dish they’ve never had before. I’m glad you’re enjoying it.”

“Lots o’ flavours ya don’t see in the usual stuff we eat ‘round here,” said Niall. “That- What’s it called? Harsa—”

“Harissa,” corrected Harry.

“Harissa,” continued Niall, “is really flavourful. Loads o’ different ones. Peppery and garlicky. Got a really deep, rich taste. Just really interestin’.”

Harry looked proud.

“It’s one of my favourite types of cuisine,” Meggie told the lads. “I just really love any of the Mediterranean cuisines. Well, more the Northern African and Mediterranean Sea basin countries. Not so much, like, Greek and Italian.”

“I love it a lot,” said Harry. “I think it’s all very, like, elegant. That’s probably wrong but just, like, it’s—”

“I think that’s a good word for it,” said Niall. “Ya said that last week and I didn’t know what ya meant but I think that’s a good way to describe it.”

“You lads should go to one of Ottolenghi’s places,” suggested Meggie.

“Ottolenghi?” asked Niall, brows furrowed.

Harry nodded vehemently. “Yottam Ottolenghi. He’s a- an Israeli-British chef. He has a bunch of delis and, like, cafes and a, um, another restaurant in Islington. I’ve- I want to go there sometime.”

“He got a place near the Tate?” asked Niall curiously.

“Modern?” asked Meggie and Niall nodded. “Spitalfields isn’t that far from Bankside. He’s got a new spot there on Artillery Lane. My boyfriend and I went for lunch last week.”

Niall looked at Harry and smiled. “Think I’ve figured out where we’re going to have lunch on Saturday.”

“We’re going to have lunch too?” Harry looked genuinely surprised.

“Yeah, lad. Thought it might be nice,” said Niall with a shrug.

Meggie looked politely curious. “You two going on- going out on Saturday?” she asked. Niall suspected she’d stopped herself from asking if he and Harry were going on a date and he was grateful for that.

Harry nodded, smile wide and dimples deep, as he told Meggie, “Niall’s going to go to the Tate Modern with me to see the Dorothea Tanning exhibition that’s on. I usually go to museums alone but Niall said he’d like to go with me on- this weekend.”

“That’ll be nice,” said the girl. “It always seems like you lads have a good time together. I’m sure you’ll have fun.”

They left the cooking school a bit later, saying their goodbyes as they stepped out onto the pavement.

“I’ll see ya on Saturday, yeah,” said Niall.

“Yeah.”

“Just don’t stand me up, all right?” Niall smirked, playful but still hoping that Harry knew he was trying to reassure him that he wouldn’t stand him up.

“I won’t,” said Harry, grinning back.

Niall woke up the next morning eager for the day to end; it was Friday and while he always looked forward to the weekend because it meant he could have a bit of a lie-in before spending time with friends, he was especially excited because it meant he would spend the day with Harry.

It was on his lunch break that Niall saw a text from Harry. _I usually go to museums earlier in the day like around 10:00 before it gets too busy. But we can go later if you don’t want to go early because I know it’s saturday and you probably like to sleep in like most people do?_

 _Ten is fine Harry. I don’t want you to change your whole normal routine for me,_ replied Niall. _Besides I don’t always sleep in on weekends !_

_OK cool! Then 10:00 at the main entrance?_

_Sounds good !_

“Who is he?”

“What?” asked Niall, looking up from his phone to see one of his coworkers—a young woman named Stephanie who was one of the art teachers with whom he was friendly—leaning against the counter of the kitchenette, a mug in her hands. “Who is who?”

“Who are you texting?” she asked.

“My friend Harry,” Niall told her.

“The lad at the cooking classes?” she asked, moving toward Niall and pulling out a chair at the table.

“Yes,” said Niall, rolling his eyes in mild amusement, “the lad at the cooking classes.”

“Did you finally ask him out?”

“Did I finally- What? No,” said Niall, shaking his head quickly. “No, I didn’t ask him out.”

“Why not? I can tell you like him,” said Steph.

Niall sighed quietly. “I do like him. He’s really nice and smart and funny and he’s fit and just- Is it weird to say a bloke’s pretty? Because he is. And he’s so interesting. Like, I think he’s the most fascinating person I’ve met. He’s a tailor on Savile Row and he loves to cook and go to museums and he knows all about wine and—”

“So why haven’t you asked him out yet?” asked Steph, interrupting Niall.

“Shawn and I just broke up—”

“Two months ago.”

“—and Harry knows that and I don’t want him to think he’s just, like, a rebound or somethin’.”

Steph took a sip of her tea, eyeing Niall as she drank. “I bet he wouldn’t think that,” she said after a few moments.

“He’s really insecure. Don’t think he’s had much datin’ experience, to be honest,” said Niall. “Told me everyone stands him up. I don’t want to even risk havin’ him think I’m just usin’ him as a rebound.”

Steph seemed to consider Niall’s words. “Well, then we need to figure out a way that you can hang out with him somewhere other than those cooking classes,” said Steph. “Just friends, you know. See where it goes from there.”

“I mean, I didn’t ask him out but I did sort of invite m’self to join him at the Tate tomorrow.” Niall shrugged and gave Steph a sheepish half-smile.

“You invited yourself to join him at the Tate?”

Niall nodded. “He goes to a different museum most weekends. Said whenever he’s invited people to go with him, they stand him up. So I asked him where he’s plannin’ to go this weekend and he said the Tate Modern. Got a Dorothea Tanning exhibition on and he’s really into Surrealism at the moment. So I told him I’d meet him there.”

“That’s good,” said Steph. “Just spend time with him. And who knows.” The girl smirked, teasing. “Maybe he’ll even fancy you back.”

Niall gave a fake chuckle. “Oh-ho! Yer so funny.”

“I’m teasing,” Steph assured him. “But really. Hang out with him and maybe you’ll find that he has, like, similar feelings about you. Give it time and let whatever happens happen naturally.”

Niall thought about Steph’s advice as the day passed. She was right, he knew; if he just enjoyed his time with Harry and let their relationship evolve in whatever way it would, neither he nor Harry would have any reason to feel that Niall had jumped into a relationship, had used Harry as a rebound.

And if the relationship became nothing more than platonic, they’d at least have both gained a new friend.

At home a few hours later, Niall changed into jeans and a jumper. He was brushing his teeth and getting ready to head to the local pub to meet a few mates for pints when he heard his phone ding.

Pulling it from the pocket of his jeans, he found a message from Harry.

 _Sometimes I do those audio tour things when i got to exhibitions but that’s usually because I don’t have anyone to talk to so we don’t have to do it if you don’t want to_ , read the text.

Niall rolled his eyes fondly and shook his head slightly. Harry clearly was not understanding that Niall would do whatever Harry wanted to do, that he didn’t want to change Harry’s routine but rather just join it.

 _Up to you Harry. If you want to we can if you don’t want to we won’t. Whatever you decide_ , replied Niall.  

_OK thanks Niall. I’ll think about it and decide for the morning._

_Sounds alright lad!_ typed Niall, pushing down the urge to call Harry love. _I’ll see you in the morning._

 _See you in the morning, Niall!_ read Harry’s response.

Niall arrived at the pub a bit later and found his friends at a booth in the back. As they talked about their plans for the weekend, Niall mentioned his trip to the Tate and plans for lunch at Ottolenghi the next day.

“Ya like this lad a lot, don’t ya?” asked his friend Conor.

“Yeah,” agreed Niall. “He’s really interesting and I like spendin’ time with him.”

Conor shot Gerry a look across the table and Niall wondered what it meant, though a moment later he thought he understood.

“D’ya fancy him?”

Niall frowned. He did but he wasn’t sure if he wanted to tell his friends. Despite Steph’s apparent belief that two months after a break up was long enough to wait before starting to date again, he wasn’t sure if the lads would agree.

After a moment, though, he nodded. “Yeah. I- I do. He’s- he’s lovely. Smart and funny but, like, he doesn’t realise he’s as funny or smart as he is. Really interestin’ with lots of different interests and hobbies. Even his job’s different. I mean, he’s a bespoke tailor.”

Niall paused for a second, blushing slightly because he was always a bit embarrassed to tell his friends that he found other men sexually attractive; they were all straight, though none of them ever seemed uncomfortable when he did bring up his sexuality.

“And he’s beautiful,” he continued because he knew they wouldn’t have any problems with it. “Just, like, a gorgeous face and lips that just- I just want to kiss him. Fit, too. And he’s adorable.” Then he added, as if it was absolute proof that Harry was adorable, “He wears mittens.”

“Should invite him ‘round then,” said Bird from beside him. “Come have a pint. Where’s he live?”

Niall shook his head. “I don’t know. But I don’t think—”

“Niall’s worried we’ll embarrass him in front of a beautiful lad,” said Gerry, teasing.

“I’m not worried ya will. I know ya will,” said Niall with a smile. “But Harry’s not very social.” He frowned. “That’s not what I mean. He’s- He doesn’t like to be in groups where he’s expected to be chattin’. Says he’s rubbish at conversation.”

“So how’s he talk to you?” asked Louis.

“Told me it’s different talkin’ to me,” said Niall with a shrug. “Don’t know why ‘cept he said I’m nice to him so that makes me different from most lads.”

“Aw. Made for each other,” sighed Gerry.

“Oh, piss off,” said Niall, joking, without any bite.

“Nah, that’s nice,” said Conor. “Good he feels comfortable with ya. Glad he’s got ya as a friend.”

“Yeah,” agreed Niall. He took a sip of his beer and said, “He told me every time he invites someone to do something with him, they stand him up.”

“Really?” asked Bird. “Why?”

“He thinks it’s because he’s eccentric and people don’t want to do the things he likes,” Niall told the lads.

Gerry frowned. “What kind of things does he like to do? It’s not, like, weird shite, is it?”

“No,” said Niall, shaking his head. “It’s, like, taking cooking classes and going to art museums and, like, guided history tours. So, ya know, different from what most lads our age are doing on a Saturday but not really fuckin’ weird or anythin’.”

“They stand him up?” asked Conor, brows furrowed. He looked sad, hurt for Harry. “That’s- that’s just awful. Poor lad.”

Niall nodded. “He’s such a sweetheart too. He would never stand anyone up.”

“You should ask him out,” said Louis. “Just something that’s the two of you. I don’t mean ask him ‘round the pub for pints. Just you.”

Nial tried not to blush. “I’m, uh, goin’ to the Tate with him tomorrow.”

“What?”

“I- I asked him if he’d like me to join him on his museum day,” Niall told his friends. “He seemed happy I asked.”

“O’ course he was,” said Bird. “Reckon if everyone ya asked to do stuff with ya stood ya up, it’d be nice to have someone ask you for a change.”

Niall hadn’t thought of it that way but he supposed John was right.

“We’re cuttin’ ya off at three pints, lad,” said Gerry. “I know how y’are after that. Sleep ‘til noon and we can’t have ya oversleepin’ yerself.”

Niall couldn’t argue with Gerry because he did have a habit of sleeping late the morning after he drank more than a few rounds of pints.

It was at around midnight that the lads decided to head home, paying their tabs and slipping on their jackets before saying their goodbyes and going their separate directions.

Back at his flat, Niall got ready for bed, making sure to check the alarm on his phone multiple times before settling into his bed for the night. He planned to get to the Tate at least five minutes early so Harry wouldn’t have a chance to think that Niall might stand him up.

When he woke up in the morning, bright and early and ready for his day with Harry to start, he sent Harry a quick text before he got up to turn on the kettle and take a shower.

_Good morning lad ! See you in a bit!!_

Niall realised he was filled with a growing nervous excitement as he got ready for the day. While he knew that the day’s activities weren’t part of a date, the conversations he’d had with both the lads and Steph the day before made him acutely aware of how much he wished it was a proper date.

His phone dinged and he grabbed it from where he’d tossed it to the foot of the bed.

 _Good morning, Niall! 10:00 don’t be late!_ read Harry’s response.

_I won’t be I promise_

At ten minutes to ten o’clock, Niall walked up to the front doors of the Tate Modern, the cool early March morning drizzly and grey. He held two paper cups of tea—he felt Earl Grey was a safe bet because it had to be the most popular flavoured tea for a reason—that he’d stopped to get at his favourite cafe and looked around for Harry.

Slowly sipping at his own cup, he heard his name called from a short distance down the pavement.

“Niall!” called Harry again, this time only a few feet from him. “You’re early!”

Niall nodded. “Didn’t want ya thinkin’ I was going to stand ya up.” He reached out to hand Harry the other paper cup. “Got ya a tea. Hope ya like Earl Grey.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “You brought me- You didn’t have to bring me tea,” he said quietly, taking the cup from Niall and wrapping his long ringed fingers around it. “But thank you. It’s- I do like Earl Grey. Thanks. It’s very sweet.”

Niall shrugged and gave Harry a gentle smile. “Wasn’t just going to show up with one for me and nothin’ for you. Didn’t know if ya take milk and sugar so I put some o’ both in.”

“That’s- that’s good. Thank you.” Harry blushed and took a sip of his tea. “We can’t- we can’t bring them into the museum though.”

“That’s okay,” said Niall. “Still got a few minutes before they open.”

“We can go sit,” suggested Harry, gesturing toward the benches a bit farther along the pavement. “While we- while we wait.”

Niall walked with Harry toward the benches, sitting on one closest to the museum’s entrance.

“I asked me friend Steph about Dorothea Tanning,” Niall told Harry once they were seated side-by-side. “She’s an art teacher at City of London. She saw the exhibition a few weeks ago. Said it’s amazing. Didn’t know she did all them weird stuffed cloth sculptures. Always thought they were creepy.”

“Like- like _Embrace_ and _Reclining Nude_?”

“If that’s what they’re called,” said Niall.

Harry bit his lip, looking suddenly nervous. “Maybe- maybe you won’t like this exhibit.”

“What?” asked Niall, brows furrowed. “I’m sure I will.”

“It’s okay if—”

“Harry. I want to see it,” Niall told him gently, placing his hand on Harry’s knee. He caught Harry’s eye and said, “‘Art should comfort the disturbed and disturb the comfortable.’”

Harry’s eyes grew wide. “You know—”

“Yeah, I know some quotes,” said Niall with a smirk. “My point is ya don’t have to like all art to appreciate it. Art’s meant to provoke and arouse emotions or somethin’, yeah?”

Harry gave Niall a crooked little half grin and said quietly, “Yeah.” He took a sip of his tea. “That sculpture. _Embrace_. That’s why I wanted to learn to sew. Like, when I was a kid.”

Niall’s eyes widened. “Really?” he asked, a little surprised. He hadn’t expected a stuffed cloth sculpture that he found slightly creepy and a bit unsettling to be the inspiration for Harry’s decision to become a tailor.

“Yeah,” said Harry. “And, like”—he blushed, looking embarrassed for his next words—“and Potter Puppet Pals. You know that? Like, the videos on YouTube?”

“I know Potter Puppet Pals,” Niall told him with a smile. “‘Snape. Snape. Severus Snape. Dumbledore! Ron. Ron. Ron Weasley!’”

Harry giggled and Niall felt butterflies fluttering from his stomach into his chest.

“So I learnt to sew and I made my own puppets for, um, for a talent show at school,” continued Harry. “And after the show, the art teacher who was, like, who was also the costumier for the school theatre program asked me if I’d like to- if I’d like to learn to make costumes for the plays. So I did that with her and she taught me a lot. Then when it was time to start thinking about, like, where to go for uni and, you know, what to study, she suggested costuming or bespoke tailoring.”

“And ya chose tailoring.”

Harry nodded. “Probably costuming would have been cooler and people wouldn’t think I’m lame because I’d be working in Hollywood or the West End or something like that. Not making suits for rich old men on Savile Row.”

Niall shook his head because he didn’t like that Harry was questioning his choice, his profession. “I think yer fascinatin’, Harry Styles. Don’t know any other lads do bespoke tailorin’.”

“Exactly,” said Harry with a grimace. “It’s weird.”

“It’s different,” Niall corrected him. “Not weird. Makes ya more unique. Everythin’ about ya makes ya more unique than any o’ the other lads I’ve met. Ya like art and cooking and readin’ ‘bout the Cosa Nostra and ya can talk about music. If I didn’t know, I’d think ya studied music theory, if I’m bein’ honest. And ya like interior design and boxin’ at the gym and wearin’ sparkly pink nail polish. Ya do high-end bespoke tailorin’ and yer covered in tattoos. Yer an enigma wrapped in a Gucci jumper and I think it’s great. I think yer great.”

Harry’s eyes grew wide, big and sparkling and bright green. “You do?” he asked, voice hushed.

Niall chuckled softly. “How many times I told ya I think yer lovely?”

“I thought you meant- I didn’t know you meant, like, my quirks.”

“Yer quirks are what make ya so lovely,” said Niall with a gentle smile, reassuring. He chose not to mention that Harry’s lips, doe eyes, and fit body were also factors.

“Thanks. I mean...” Harry stopped, blushing, and took a sip of his tea. “I think- I think we can go in now. To the museum.”

Niall looked toward the entrance and noticed a few people walking through the doors. “Suppose we can,” he agreed.

Twenty minutes later, Harry and Niall stood in the room that housed the Dorothea Tanning exhibit, one hundred pieces of art surrounding them.

“Oh, wow,” said Harry, voice a whisper.

Niall looked around the room, brows raised, and nodded. When his eyes landed on Harry, face cast in a glow of awe and wonder as he focused on the _Embrace_ statue not far from where they stood, Niall felt almost breathless. “Yeah.”

The next hour and a half passed as they wandered around the large room, moving from piece to piece and reading the plaques beside each.

“She was- Wow,” said Niall, standing in front of a painting titled _Some Roses and their Phantoms_. “Her art is so- She made so much art. And it’s all different. Like, different styles and mediums. Some of her paintings are so, I don’t know, Realist. Like _Birthday_. And others are obviously Surrealism like this. But then she did printmakin’ and lithography and sculptin’ and”—he pointed at _Embrace_ —“whatever that counts as.”

“Sculpture,” said Harry.

“Okay,” said Niall. “It’s just amazin’.”

“I like- I like that quote. On the _Musical Chairs_ plaque,” said Harry. “That she was always striving to be a better artist. I think- That’s what everyone should try to do. Try to be better at whatever they do. Try to be- try to be a better person.”  

Niall nodded. “That makes me think of that line in _Across the Universe_. Ya ever seen that movie?”

“Of course,” said Harry, nodding enthusiastically. “I love that movie.”

“That line Jude has during Thanksgiving dinner or whatever it is. Says that it’s not what ya do but the way ya do it that defines who y’are,” said Niall. “Always liked that line. Used to have this kid Tommy Whitten made fun o’ me ‘cause me da’s a butcher at Tesco. Like it was somethin’ to be ashamed of. Me da works hard and provided for me family and that’s all that matters.”

“Your dad’s a butcher and you couldn’t cook?” asked Harry, face scrunched up in a combination of amusement and disbelief.

“He’s a butcher, not a chef,” said Niall with a grin. He shrugged. “I can cook a decent roast. Can’t do much o’ anythin’ else. Least I couldn’t before I started takin’ our classes.”

“You can do a lot of things now,” said Harry. “You’re really good.”

“Thanks, Harry.”

Harry gave a small, sweet smile and moved toward another painting.

Out on the pavement an hour later, Harry held a bag with a jigsaw puzzle version of Tanning’s painting _Interior with Sudden Joy_ and a mug with another painting called _Hospitalité_ printed on it.

“Lunch?” asked Niall, turning to look at Harry.

“Yeah,” agreed Harry. “I’m hungry.” He paused for a moment and then said, sounding shy, “Do you still- We don’t have to go to Ottolenghi if you don’t want to.”

“I do, Harry,” insisted Niall. “Now come on!” Without thinking, he reached out and grabbed Harry’s hand that wasn’t holding the gift shop bag, guiding his across the street.

“Okay,” said Harry, following Niall to the other side of the street.

Once on the pavement on the opposite side of the road, Niall became truly aware of Harry’s hand in his own when he felt Harry’s fingertips lace with his own. He inhaled sharply and then, tentative and unsure—Harry hadn’t pulled his hand away and that surely meant something—he slowly slid his fingers between Harry’s completely, holding his hand.

After a moment walking in silence, hands entwined, Niall said, trying to sound confident and unaffected, “Could walk or take the bus. Not too cold.” He looked at Harry and shot him a small smile. “Yeh’ve not got yer mittens though.”

Harry gave a bashful smile of his own, shy and almost innocent, and said, “That’s okay. My hand’s warm enough.”

Niall felt his heart flip in his chest, butterflies fluttering in his tummy.

“Wouldn’t mind the exercise,” said Niall.

Harry beamed.

The two lads continued down the street, making their way to Millennium Bridge to cross the Thames.

“This is really- The sun looks really pretty right now,” said Harry, looking over the edge of the bridge. “Reflecting off the water.”

A bit farther along the bridge, Niall pointed straight ahead. “Ya ever been to St Paul’s Cathedral?”

Harry shook his head. “No.”

“Me neither,” said Niall. “Been thinkin’ I might go sometime. Do a guided tour. Reckon it’s beautiful inside.” He gave Harry’s hand, still in his own, a gentle squeeze. “You should join me.”

Harry smiled, small and pleased and a little bashful, and said, “I would like that. Art and history and- and architecture and… I would really like that.”

“Good,” said Niall, returning Harry’s smile. “We’ll make plans for it, then.”

It was just near the end of the bridge, when they’d finally arrived on the north side of the river, that Harry said, “That’s your school, isn’t it, Niall?”

“Yeah,” agreed Niall, looking at the large brick building to his left, the white sign with the school’s crest reading _City of London School_.

“So you get this view of the- of the river and the bridges every day?” asked Harry, eyes wide.

“Nah. Me classroom’s at the back o’ the school,” Niall told him. He smirked and added, “I just get to see the top of St Paul’s dome every day.”

Harry gaped at Niall. “I just see Savile Row out the window at my job.”

“Yer just down the street from where the Beatles did their last live performance together though,” said Niall.

“It was on the roof!” said Harry, looking completely exasperated, rolling his eyes, playful and teasing. “I can’t see where they actually were! Just the front of the building.”

Niall laughed, loud and happy, and tugged Harry’s hand, bringing him to a stop just where Peter’s Hill met up with Queen Victoria Street.

Harry looked stunned, nearly toe-to-toe with Niall, and Niall wondered if he felt the same way, if he felt the butterflies in his tummy and the fluttering in his chest, felt like he couldn’t stop smiling when they were together.

They looked at each other for a few moments.

“D’ya feel—”

“Can we- can we switch hands?” asked Harry.

“What?” asked Niall, shaking his head to clear his thoughts—he’d almost asked Harry if he felt butterflies in his tummy too—and bring himself back to the present moment.

“Can we switch hands?” asked Harry again. “To- My other hand is cold now and”—he smiled shyly, blushing—“you’re warm.”

Niall blinked. “O’ course,” he said, smiling back reassuringly, hoping Harry hadn’t caught what he’d been about to say, what he’d been so close to letting slip. “Switch sides then, yeah. Come over here and”—Harry moved to Niall’s left side, switching his gift shop bag to his left hand, and Niall took Harry’s right hand—“That’s better. Yer freezin’, love. Ya sure ya don’t want to get a bus?”

Harry shook his head. “No. I’m fine. Really. Just my hands always- My hands are always cold. It’s weird. But I’m fine. I want- I’d like to keep walking with you. Just- Please just keep my hand warm.”

Niall nodded and said, “I can do that.” He started walking, Harry moving to keep up with him.

“That’s good,” Harry said a moment later. “You do- you do it really well. I like- You keep my hands nice and warm.”

“I like keeping your hands warm,” Niall told him.

They were silent for a few minutes, heading along Queen Victoria Street to where it became Mansion House Street.

Finally, Niall decided he didn’t want to keep playing this little game, didn’t want to continue this metaphor or whatever it was that made him feel a bit like a twelve year old trying to figure out if his crush liked him back.

He bit his lip and, feeling a little nervous, said, “I like you, Harry.”

Harry’s lips turned up into the tiniest smile, his dimples still managing to pop. “I like you too, Niall.”

“No, Harry.” Niall stopped walking, tugging Harry to get him to stop as well. “I like ya. Not just—”

“I know,” said Harry quietly, lips still quirked into a teeny smile and cheeks a beautiful rosy pink. “I know what you mean. And I like you too. The- the same way.”

“Do ya?” asked Niall, feeling a little breathless.

Harry nodded. “I’m glad you said it, though. I don’t think- I wouldn’t have said it even though I was pretty sure you like me. Like that.”

Niall exhaled, a smile creeping onto his own face. “Glad ya feel the same way.” He chuckled. “Would’ve been a bit of a downer if it turned out ya were just holdin’ me hand for warmth.”

Harry’s face turned serious. “Of course that’s why I’m holding your hand, Niall. I forgot my mittens.”

Niall searched Harry’s face, trying to read his expression. “Oh.”

Harry beamed, dimples deep and green eyes bright. “I’m kidding,” he said with a giggle. “It was a good excuse to let you keep holding my hand though!”

Niall grinned. “It was, wasn’t it?” Harry nodded and Niall tugged his hand again. “Now come on, love. I’m starvin’!”

They neared Ottolenghi a bit later, walking down the narrow—and therefore ironically named—Widegate Street and then the even narrower Artillery Passage.

“I almost got a job there,” said Harry as they walked past Norton & Townsend. “Right after school. They’re very good bespoke tailors. They really focus on their cloth and that’s- I took some textile design classes and it’s a really interesting subject.”

“Why’d ya take a different job?” asked Niall.

Harry gave a lopsided grin. “I wanted to be down the street from the rooftop concert.”

Niall laughed. “Cheeky,” he said.

“Norton and Townsend really liked the British suits in my portfolio and- It just felt like I wouldn’t get to experiment with other cuts and styles as much as I wanted to,” Harry told him. “I like British-cut suits the best because they- I mean, they do look smart. But I didn’t want to feel, like, tied down to just that. When I went to Steed with my portfolio, they- they looked at everything equally and told me they do a variety of styles and cuts and their clients- their clients are always looking for something different.” He shrugged. “It just seemed like a better fit.”

“Were ya right?” asked Niall.

Harry nodded. “Yeah. I really- I really like my job a lot.”

“That’s good then,” said Niall. “Glad ya do.”

Harry smiled sweetly. “Thanks, Niall.”

“Lunch,” said Niall with a grin, leading Harry to the door of the deli and pushing it open.

They found seats at the long bar and picked up the menu, studying the lunch options.

“Oooh, quail!” said Harry, pointing at the grilled quail dish on the list. “I might get that.”

Niall read the line Harry was pointing at— _grilled quail, hummus, pomegranate molasses, parsley, pickled barberries_ —and said, “That does sound good. I like hummus. Never had quail.”

“No, you should get something else,” said Harry, surprising Niall. “And then we can try each other’s food. If- if you want,” he said, suddenly looking unsure.

“Sounds all right to me,” said Niall with a shrug. “Today’s all about experiencin’ new things, yeah?”

Harry nodded eagerly, eyes bright and dimples deep.

“Kofta’s, like, meatballs, right?” asked Niall a minute later.

Harry nodded again. “Are you going to get that?”

“Might.”

A half an hour later, Harry and Niall sat eating their food, large plates filled with grilled quail, beef and lamb meatballs, grilled tomatoes, pita, hummus, marinated aubergine, char-grilled broccoli, fennel, and cauliflower in front of them on the bar.

They talked while they ate, sharing bites of food and discussing everything they tried.

“I bet a lot of these recipes are in his cookbooks,” said Harry. “We should try to make them sometime. I have, like, all of his books. Except _Simple_. I don’t have that yet.”

“That would be a fun way to spend, like, a rainy Sunday,” said Niall, stabbing a piece of eggplant on Harry’s plate. “Tryin’ a bunch o’ different recipes.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “Would you really like that?”

“Course I would,” said Niall, surprised that Harry still sounded so unsure and almost shocked. He reached over and took Harry’s hand in his, giving it a little squeeze. “Told ya I like ya. Shouldn’t sound so surprised I want to spend time with ya.”

Harry smiled shyly, cheeks turning a dusty rose, and said quietly, “Do you want- I mean, you probably have plans already.”

Niall shook his head. “I don’t, actually. Got no plans for tomorrow.”

“Would you like to come to my house and we can pick some recipes and try them out?”

Niall squeezed Harry’s hand again.

“Can’t think o’ anythin’ I’d like more,” he told Harry with a fond smile.

They left Ottolenghi a while later.

“Should head home,” said Niall, though he didn’t really want to leave Harry. “Got plans with the lads tonight.” He turned to look at Harry. “Yer welcome to join us if ya want. Not doin’ much excitin’. But yer welcome to come if ya want.”

Harry smiled. “Thank you, Niall. But, um, I think I’m a little too, um, peopled out. Not that- I don’t mean”—he sighed—“I really liked spending the day with you. A lot. But it’s—”

“It’s okay, Harry,” said Niall soothingly, taking Harry’s hand and lacing their fingers. “I understand. Reckon it’d be a bit much to have ya meet ‘em all the same time. Should probably spread it out if ya do ever want to meet them.”

“I do!” said Harry pleadingly. “Just- Yeah, maybe just one or two at a time.” He paused for a moment and then added, sounding like he’d just realised what Niall had said, “You want me to meet your friends?”

Niall shot Harry a crooked grin. “Course I do, love. I talk about ya a lot.”

“Okay. Yeah,” said Harry, looking delighted. “But maybe not all at once.”

“Not all at once,” agreed Niall.

They made their way to the nearest Underground station, boarding the District line.

“Where do you live?” came Harry’s voice from beside Niall.

Niall chuckled. They’d talked about so much since they’d met—school, work, their family and friends, books and movies and television shows, their small hometowns—but they hadn’t talked about where they lived in London.

“Keston,” he told Harry. “Over in Bromley.”

“You live in Bromley?” asked Harry, sounding excited.

“Yup,” agreed Niall. “David Bowie’s hometown,” he added, thinking that was why Harry sounded so excited.

“I live in Bromley too! In Bickley though,” said Harry. “But still! We both live in Bromley.”

“Cool,” said Niall with a grin. “Practically neighbours.”

They spent their trip back to Bromley together making plans for the next day’s cooking adventures.

When they finally neared Niall’s stop, he turned to look at Harry and, feeling emboldened by the little smile that quirked the boy’s lips, pressed a sweet, chaste kiss to his cheek.

“I’ll see ya tomorrow, love,” he said, standing from his seat.

“See you tomorrow,” singsonged Harry, dimples pressing into his cheeks as a lovely blush spread across them.

Niall gave him one last smile, soft and fond, before getting off the bus.

As Niall made his way back to his flat, he could only think about how glad he was that he’d told Harry he liked him. He hadn’t planned to do it, had planned to take Steph’s advice and just spend time with Harry and see how the relationship progressed naturally.

It had felt natural, though, when he’d grabbed Harry’s hand before crossing the street and dragging him toward lunch. It hadn’t even been a conscious decision, really. He’d just done it.

Maybe that was what Steph meant, he thought. Maybe that, maybe the whole day, was a piece of their relationship unfolding.

And it seemed to be the type of relationship he’d hoped for too.

He wouldn’t push Harry into anything. He wouldn’t push himself into anything either. He would continue to spend time with Harry doing things they both enjoyed—going to museums and historical tours, walking around the city, going to lunch at interesting restaurants, taking cooking classes, spending afternoons together cooking—and would let more bits of their blossoming relationship unfold.

By the time Niall woke up the next morning, he was so excited to spend more time with Harry that he was almost surprised by his own eagerness and excitement.

He was also surprised to see that his excitement translated itself into not a nervous energy like it had before their French Moroccan cooking class or before their Tate Modern not-date but into a productive energy. He woke up early and made himself breakfast, baking muffins while his laundry machine ran and listening to old Jim Croce records while he cleaned his living room and changed the sheets on his bed.

At around half past eleven, Niall got a text from Harry.

_We can look through my ottolenghi cookbooks when you get here and see what we want to cook and then go to the grocery to get what we need! There’s a Budgens that’s only a 5 minute walk from my house._

_OK sounds good!_ replied Niall. _What time do you want me to come over ?_

 _Whenever you want!_ read Harry’s message.

Niall didn’t need to be told twice. _I’ll be there in like 40 minutes or so. Not sure how long it’ll take exactly Siri says 38 minutes_ , he typed. He hurriedly placed his dirty dishes in the dish machine and set it to wash before grabbing his coat and slipping on a pair of shoes.

_ok cool! I’ll see you soon._

Niall pulled the door closed behind him, locking it and making his way to the street.

He boarded the bus at the Leafy Grove stop and found a seat, unlocking his phone and opening Safari. He typed _ottolenghi recipes_ into the search bar and clicked on the first link. He read through the list of ingredients and wondered if they would be able to find some of them at Budgens; he’d never seen sumac or barberries or pomegranate molasses in the regular grocery.

 _Will we be able to find everything we need at Budgens?_ he typed, sending the message to Harry.

 _Probably not some of the more unusual stuff but I already have a lot of things so we can look for recipes that don’t have too many weird ingredients or have things I already have_ , read Harry’s response.

Of course Harry had a bunch of unusual ingredients, thought Niall with a fond little smile.

 _Ok sounds good!_ he sent back.

Niall arrived at Harry’s house—a cute little stucco terraced house at the end of a row of attached houses—about a half hour later.

He knocked on the door and was greeted by Harry, his smile so wide and dimples so deep that Niall couldn’t help but smile back at him with what he thought was probably the same enthusiasm.

“Hi, Niall,” he said, sounding as happy as he looked. “Come in. I hope- I hope you like it. I don’t- I don’t have guests very often. Or, like, ever. So I hope—”

“Harry, I’m sure yer house is lovely,” said Niall, cutting off Harry’s rambling, “but I’m here to see you, not judge if ya decorate well.”

“Okay, yeah,” said Harry, nodding to himself.

Niall grinned and added, “Besides, you’ll be horrified when ya come to my place. I’ve not got any artistic flair at all.”

Harry led Niall into the kitchen, sliding onto a bench at the little breakfast nook.

“Maybe you should- You should sit next to me,” said Harry as Niall started to drop down to slide into the bench on the opposite side of the table. “So we can look at the book together,” he explained. “Unless you want to look at a different book and we can go, like, twice as fast.”

Niall moved around the table and slid into the seat beside Harry. “Probably a good idea,” he said. “You’ll probably have to explain some stuff to me anyway so I won’t have to interrupt yer searchin’ to ask ya questions if we’re just lookin’ together.”

“Yeah. Okay. Good,” said Harry, looking at Niall.

“Besides, we don’t have to rush,” Niall told the other lad. “It’s only just past noon. We’ve got all day. Unless ya need me out by a certain time.”

“No,” Harry rushed to tell Niall, shaking his head vehemently. “We’ve- we’ve got all day.”

“All right, then,” said Niall. He looked at the stack of books on the table. “Where should we start?”

Harry pulled one book— _Ottolenghi_ , read the cover—toward them. “We can start with his first book. And maybe just go in, like, in chronological order.”

“Or maybe we could do from the first book today and the second book next week and keep going like that,” suggested Niall.

“You want- you want to do this again?” asked Harry, eyes wide. Niall was thrown by Harry’s obvious surprise. “We haven’t even—”

“Told ya yesterday I like ya, Harry. I like spendin’ time with ya,” said Niall. “Don’t know why I wouldn’t want to do this again.” He shrugged and then gave a little lopsided smile. “Unless we burn down yer house or somethin’. Might ruin the experience.”

Harry laughed, his dimples pressing deep into his cheeks and green eyes bright, and Niall smiled back.

An hour later, they’d picked three recipes—marinated eggplant with tahini and oregano, cauliflower and cumin fritters with lime yogurt, and seared duck breast with blood orange and star anise—and Niall sat calling out ingredients as Harry flitted around the kitchen checking the refrigerator and cupboards for each item, telling Niall what they needed so he could write it on the shopping list.

“We’ll need a tub of that,” said Harry when Niall called out for tahini. “I finished my last one when I made hummus a couple weeks ago.”

After what Niall thought was a surprisingly quick trip to the grocery, they returned to Harry’s house with a few bags filled mostly with produce and a few less common store-cupboard ingredients.

They began their prep work, Niall measuring ingredients and setting them out on separate cookie sheets like Meggie did for their cooking classes. Harry worked beside him at his cutting board, chopping and mincing and dicing.

When everything was measured and chopped, they read through the recipes again, heads together over the pages of the cookbook.

“Why don’t you- I’ll marinate the duck if you want to start roasting the aubergine,” said Harry. “Unless you want to work together on, like, on one thing at a time.”

“No, that’s fine. Divide and conquer, yeah?” said Niall with a little grin. “Once we’ve got those done, we can work on the fritters and lime yogurt together. Sound good?”

Harry nodded. “Yeah. Since the duck has to- the duck needs to marinate for a few hours before we cook it. And the aubergine needs to roast and then marinate for two hours too! Niall,” said Harry, looking a little frantic, eyes wide, “we won’t be eating until half six!”

“That’s all right, Harry,” said Niall softly, lips quirked in a fond smile now. “Not in a rush, yeah. Told me earlier ya didn’t need me out at a certain time. ‘Less yeh’ve changed yer mind.”

“No,” said Harry forcefully, shaking his head quickly as though trying to make sure Niall knew that wasn’t the case. “No. Just- I don’t want you to get bored and leave. While we’re waiting for—”

Niall’s brow furrowed, upset by Harry’s words. “Love, I’m not going to get bored and leave. Why would- why would I?”

“Because when we’re waiting for the food to finish, it’s just”—Harry shrugged—“it’s just me.”

Niall looked carefully at Harry, noticing the blush that stained his cheeks. “Yeah, love. That’s good. Just you and me. Can talk or listen to music or watch a movie or some telly. I like spendin’ time with ya, Harry. I won’t get bored. I think yer the most interestin’ person I know.” He ducked his head down to catch Harry’s downcast eyes and gave the lad an encouraging smile. “Besides, I’m not going to leave. ‘Specially not before we eat.”

Harry smiled sheepishly, cheeks still pink, and said, “Okay. Thanks, Niall.”

“Don’t need to thank me, Harry.”

When the duck was marinating and the eggplant roasting, Harry and Niall set about preparing the fritters and making the lime yogurt.

“What- what would you like to do now?” asked Harry once the eggplant was in its marinade.

“Could watch a movie. Some telly.” Niall shrugged. “Ya got Netflix?”

“Yes,” said Harry. “We could watch something on- on Netflix.”

They settled on watching _Stranger Things_ , binging the first three episodes while snacking on microwave popcorn and drinking beer that Niall had bought at the off license next to Budgens.

“I think we can- I think we can finish cooking,” said Harry as the third episode came to an end. “The duck should be ready by now and then, um, then we can eat and maybe watch a few more episodes. If you want.”

“Sounds all right,” said Niall with a smile.

Duck seared and simmering in its sauce, Niall fried their cauliflower fritters while Harry set the small dining table in his little dining room.

“We always stand when we’re eating,” said Harry, shrugging, a blush betraying his uncertainty about his next words. “And I never- I always just sit at my breakfast nook when I eat. Don’t often- I never have guests over to, you know, to eat at the real table and I thought- I thought it would be nice to—”

“It will be,” agreed Niall. “Have a proper dining experience. Yeh’ve even got fancy plates.”

“They’re not- They aren’t really fancy,” said Harry, looking embarrassed. “They’re—”

“Mine are all melamine. Scratched to shit,” Niall told him. “So yeah, yers are much fancier than mine. Reckon I should get some nicer stuff since I’m an adult now and not a broke kid at uni. Got no good excuse.”

Harry gave Niall a crooked little smile and pulled the lid off of the pan, using tongs to pull the duck out and placing it on the cutting board.

Fifteen minutes later, the blood orange sauce had reduced nicely and Harry had sliced the duck breasts and fanned them out on the plates. He spooned some of the sauce over the meat and Niall added a few wedges of marinated eggplant to the dishes.

Finally, fritters drained from the hot oil and placed on a nice platter—“Yeh’ve even got a platter! I’ve just got, like, bigger plates.”—Harry and Niall settled into chairs at the dining room table.

“This is so good,” said Niall after he’d taken a few bites of everything they’d cooked. “We did a good job.”

Harry nodded in agreement. “We should- Do you want to do this again next weekend? Or maybe—”

“Sounds good,” said Niall. “Same place, same time?”

Harry smiled across the table at Niall, eyes soft and dimples deep. “Yeah. Same place, same time.”

When they were finished eating, they worked together quickly to clean up, washing the dishes and wiping the counters and hob.

“We don’t- We didn’t make anything for dessert,” said Harry as he rinsed the sponge in the sink.

“I’m so full I don’t think I could eat anything even if we did,” Niall told him.

“Yeah.” Harry nodded. “I could make some, um, some hot chocolate if you want. That’s- I like to have something sweet after dinner usually and that’s not- it’s not, like, filling like a pudding. So I could make some hot chocolate and we could watch some more episodes of _Stranger Things_. Unless you need to go home.”

Niall grinned at Harry fondly, thinking how much he loved Harry’s rambling speech. “I’d love some hot chocolate. And another episode of _Stranger Things_.”

“Good,” said Harry on an exhale, lips quirking into a pleased smile.

“Ya got them tiny marshmallows?”

Harry grinned and gave a nod and Niall watched as he set about making the hot chocolate.

Fifteen minutes later, Harry and Niall sat side-by-side on the sofa, steaming mugs of hot chocolate in their hands. Harry pressed the play button and sat back as the fourth episode began.

When the episode ended nearly an hour later, Niall leant forward and grabbed the television control from the coffee table. He pressed pause before the next episode could begin.

“Reckon I should go,” he said, giving Harry a wistful little smile. “Got work in the mornin’ and it’s gettin’ late.”

“Yeah,” agreed Harry, nodding. “It’s- Yeah. Thanks, Niall. For- for coming over. It was- I had fun.”

“Me too,” Niall told him with a gentle smile. “I like spendin’ time with ya. I- I really like ya, Harry.”

Harry blushed and then, quiet, voice barely more than a whisper, said, “I really like you too, Niall.”

Niall’s heart beat a little quicker and he felt butterflies in his tummy again. Slowly, he leant toward Harry and places a sweet kiss on his cheek, pressing his nose against Harry’s for a moment before pulling away.

“I’ll see ya on Wednesday night, yeah?” he asked, looking at Harry and noticing that the lad’s eyes were closed, a flush on his cheeks and his lips turned up into a dreamy little smile.

Harry’s eyes flew open—Niall wondered if he’d realised they’d even been closed—and nodded. “Yeah. Gnocchi. I’ll- I’ll see you on Wednesday.”

Harry walked Niall to the door and they said their goodbyes, Harry waving as Niall walked down the street.

The next few days passed slowly. Niall supposed everything seemed to take longer when you were eager for whatever was to come at the end of the wait. Though he and Harry texted frequently, Niall was still excited to see him at Sur La Table on Wednesday evening.

“How was the d-Tate?” asked Meggie when she saw the two lads sitting in their seats.

“It was amazing!” said Harry, sounding so excited. “We saw so much of her art! Dorothea Tanning, you know. And Niall didn’t really know her art but he”—Harry turned to Niall, a tiny frown on his face—“You liked it, right?”

“Yeah,” Niall rushed to agree. “Talented lady. Did all sorts o’ stuff.”

Meggie smiled—a smirk, really, thought Niall—and said, “And did you go to Ottolenghi?”

Niall nodded and Harry said, sounding just as excited as he had been about Dorothea Tanning, “Yes! We had lunch and it was so good.” He launched into a description of their meal, telling her about the aubergine and kofta and quail and hummus.

“Sounds good,” said Meggie, smiling and hiding a soft chuckle at Harry’s enthusiasm. “My boyfriend had the quail when we went. I had a few bites myself and, yeah, it was pretty amazing.”

Harry nodded in agreement.

“Do you have any of his books?” asked Meggie.

“Yes,” said Harry. “Everything except _Simple_. I haven’t got that yet.”

“Tried some recipes out on Sunday,” Niall told her, watching for her reaction.

“Together?” she asked, brows raised as she waited for the answer.

Harry nodded again, a blush painting his cheeks a lovely rosey pink this time. “Y-yes. Niall came to- He came to my house and we picked a few recipes from, um, from _Ottolenghi_.”

Niall saw Meggie, and Aaron behind her, bite back smiles. He wondered for a moment whether they’d made some sort of bet about them—maybe how long it would take them to go on a proper date, somewhere outside of the kitchen at Sur La Table—before turning his attention back to the instructor.

“What’d you make?”

“We did a marinated eggplant dish. It had, um, tahini and oregano. And cauliflower fritters with a lime yogurt sauce,” Harry told her. “And seared duck breast with blood orange and star anise where you, like, sear the duck and then put it back into the pan with the blood orange juice and anise and let it simmer to sort of, like, braise it.” He frowned slightly, just as he had when he’d told Meggie about their trip to the Tate, and Niall wished he wouldn’t when he added, “It had to marinate for two hours before we could cook it and poor Niall had to stick around to wait.”

“I’m sure he didn’t mind,” said Meggie.

“O’ course I didn’t,” said Niall. “I told ya- I said that on Sunday, Harry. I like spendin’ time with ya. Wish I didn’t have to say it so many times.” He smiled at Harry gently, reassuring, hoping Harry would realise he wasn’t truly upset or frustrated. “Wish ya’d just believe me.”

“There we go,” said Meggie as though that settled the matter. “Now let’s get started with our gnocchi, yeah. It’s not going to make itself.”

As they stood at the tables rolling little pieces of potato dough on the ridged gnocchi boards Aaron had set out for them, Niall said, hoping he sounded casual and not like he was a bit nervous, “Was thinkin’ we could go to St Paul’s on Saturday. If yeh’ve not got plans for a museum already.”

“No, I don’t,” Harry told him. “I was going to ask you but I didn’t know if you maybe had plans with your- with your mates.”

Niall shook his head. “No. Friday nights we go to the local and sometimes we do stuff on Saturdays but nothin’ this weekend.” He rolled a piece of dough to form a little gnocchi and placed it on the flour-covered baking sheet. “Could join us on Friday if ya’d like. Think it’ll just be Bird and Conor. The quieter ones, to be honest. Might be nice. I know they’d love to meet ya.”

Harry looked at Niall, lips pouted slightly and forehead creased as he thought about Niall’s words. “Maybe. Yeah. I think”—he nodded, face smoothing into a smile—“I think I’d like that. For- for a few drinks.”

Niall smiled, pleased that Harry had even considered it and hadn’t immediately shut the idea down. “Can stay as long as ya want. A half an hour or all night. S’up to you.”

Harry nodded again. “Okay. Yeah. It’ll be nice!”

“It will,” agreed Niall.

A bit later, they stood eating their gnocci that they’d tossed in the red pepper flake-laced tomato sauce they’d made earlier.

“Montepulciano d'Abruzzo,” said Meggie, walking toward their table. She sounded impressed and Niall wondered what she was talking about. “You did your research, Harry.”

Niall was curious and a little confused. “Research?” he asked, looking from Meggie to Harry. “For what?”

The instructor pointed to the bottle of wine. “Montepulciano d'Abruzzo is a wine made in the Abruzzo region of Italy. And Abruzzo is one of the regions that makes their gnocchi with a potato-based dough instead of a ricotta or semolina-based dough.”

“It’s not like- I mean,” stuttered Harry, blushing.

“Did ya really research that, Harry?” asked Niall, feeling almost awed.

Harry’s blush deepened and he said, voice quiet, “Yes. I wanted- I wanted to bring a really good wine tonight.”

“Ya did,” Niall assured him with a smile. “Perfect.”

Harry beamed.

By Friday morning, Harry and Niall had made plans to join Bird and Conor for drinks at the local pub near Niall’s flat in Bromley. They’d also planned to go to St Paul’s Cathedral on Saturday and follow the tour up with lunch.

As Niall walked into his flat on Friday afternoon, he received a text from Harry.

 _I had an idea for Sunday if you don’t mind changing our plan a little bit_.

Niall typed out his response and sent it. _I don’t mind what’s the new plan ?_

 _Maybe we can pick our recipes and make our shopping list on Sunday and then we can go to some of the specialty markets together next Saturday to get everything ready to cook on Sunday_ , read Harry’s message. _That way we can pick things that have to marinate if we want and we can start them on Saturday so theyre ready to cook on Sunday. And we can do recipes that have more exotic ingredietsn and not just be like limited to what I have and what we can get at budgens._

It sounded like a solid plan to Niall. Everything Harry had said made sense—they could better prepare if they chose their menu a week ahead, could choose recipes that weren’t confined to the basic ingredients already in Harry’s store-cupboard, could start any pre-prep the day before—and it also meant he had set plans with Harry for not just the upcoming weekend but also for the weekend after.

_That sounds like a good plan Harry !_

_thanks Niall!_ replied Harry.

Niall could imagine the light blush that he was sure tinted Harry’s cheeks.

 _I’ll see you tonight love,_ read the next message Niall sent.

Niall arrived at the pub at seven o’clock and found Bird and Conor in a booth in the back.

“Lads,” he greeted as he walked up to their table. “I’m going to need you to move over next to Conor,” he said to Bird. “Harry’s comin’ and he’ll probably feel more comfortable sittin’ next to me.”

“Harry’s comin’?” asked Conor as he scooted closer to the wall.

“Yeah,” said Niall. Bird slid out from the booth and walked to the other side of the table, sitting on the bench and moving in a bit. “I told him it was just you two.” He sat on the end of the empty bench and moved in. “Please don’t, like, I don’t know. Just be nice.”

“Course we’ll be nice to him, mate,” said Bird, pulling his nearly- empty pint across the table from where it still sat in front of Niall. “We won’t scare yer lad off.”

“He’s not my lad but thanks.”

“But ya want him to be,” said Conor.

“Wouldn’t mind it, yeah,” agreed Niall, looking up as the door opened. “Harry!” he called, waving at the lad where he stood in the doorway.

Harry looked in Niall’s direction and after spotting Niall, moved toward the booth.

“Hi, Niall,” said Harry once he’d reached their table. He looked a little nervous and Niall wished he didn’t.

“Hi, Harry,” said Niall, smiling softly at the lad. “Sit down, yeah.” He patted the seat next to him and slid toward the wall a bit more.

Harry sat and moved toward Niall. “Um, h-hi,” he said, giving a stilted little wave to Bird and Conor.

“Harry, this is John Bird,” said Niall, pointing to Bird. “Everyone calls him Bird. And Conor Masterson. Lads, this is Harry.”

“Hey, Harry,” said Bird. “It’s nice to finally meet ya.”

“It’s nice to- it’s nice to meet you too.”

“We’ve been hearin’ about ya for the last month now,” Conor told him with a kind smile. “Nice to put a face to the name.”

“Um, thanks,” said Harry, looking surprised. Niall wondered why because he knew he’d told Harry that he’d told his friends about him. “You too.”

“Niall told us ya like to cook,” said Conor.

Harry nodded. “Y-yes. I- It’s kind of a, um, a weird hobby. But it’s- I enjoy it.”

“Not weird,” Bird assured him. “It’s good. Bet ya don’t eat takeaway pizza most nights.”

“No,” agreed Harry.

“Lad makes his own pizzas from scratch,” Niall told his friends, sounding proud. “Makes his own dough and everythin’.”

Bird and Conor both looked impressed.

“Should have some pizza parties,” said Conor. “You two can make the pizzas now Niall’s a proper cook and we’ll bring the beer.”

“Speaking of. What’ll ya have to drink?” Bird asked Harry. “Goin’ for another pint.”

“Oh. Um. Maybe an Old Fashioned. If that’s okay.” He looked at Niall, a tentative, unsure expression on his face. “Or I could just have a pint of, like, of whatever you’re having.”

“Any particular kind o’ whiskey ya like?” asked Bird, standing from the table.

“No,” said Harry, shaking his head. “Not- not really.”

Bird nodded. “Niall. The usual?”

“Yeah, mate,” agreed Niall. “Thanks.”

“Thought ya’d go for wine,” said Conor, nodding at Bird who was looking at him expectantly. “Heard yer an expert.”

Harry flushed. “I’m not- I’m hardly an expert. I just- I think wine’s really interesting and I like to read about it a lot. It’s kind of- I know it’s kind of an old person interest but—”

“I don’t think so,” said Conor. He gave Harry a small smile. “If wine’s an old person interest, then violin’s an old person instrument. I mean, how many violinists ya know our age?”

“Um, none,” said Harry, shaking his head as he considered Conor’s words. “Other than, um- I’m guessing you play violin?”

Conor nodded. “Yeah. I’m a studio musician.”

“How cool!” said Harry excitedly. “That must be- Do you work with lots of cool people?”

“I don’t always get to meet the artists. Just get to the studio and they give me the music I’m recordin’ and I go ahead and play,” Conor told Harry. “But I did get to do a bit o’ recordin’ on the Maccabees’ last album. Met them. Lovely lads. Really talented and very gracious.”

“I love the Maccabees,” said Harry, hushed, eyes wide. “I wish I played guitar better than I do so—”

“You play the guitar?” asked Niall, sitting forward and sounding surprised. “I know yer mum’s cat’s name but I didn’t know ya play the guitar.”

“I don’t usually tell people because I play, um, not very well,” said Harry, looking at Niall. “Very- Pretty poorly, actually.”

Niall shook his head. “I can’t imagine you doin’ anything poorly.”

Harry blushed. “Well, believe it. I’m terrible.”

“Bet Niall could change that,” said Conor. “Give ya some lessons. Just like you helped him learn how to cook.”

“Maybe,” said Harry. “I’ll probably be a terrible student.”

“Nah. I doubt it,” Niall told him. “Thought I was going to be a terrible cooking student but I ended up not being too bad.”

Bird returned with a tray filled with drinks a few moments later, setting it in the center of the table before dropping down to the bench next to Conor.

They each took their drink from the tray and resumed their conversation. Niall was thankful that his friends kept the subjects ones that he supposed they thought Harry would feel most comfortable talking about; they asked about Harry and Niall’s cooking endeavours, both at Sur La Table and at Harry’s house, and chatted to Harry about his trips to various vineyards and wineries around the United Kingdom and France.

“Heard ya like art museums,” said Bird. “Got a favourite?”

“I don’t- I’m not sure,” answered Harry. He looked thoughtful, considering Bird’s question before beginning to tell Conor, Bird, and Niall about the different museums he’d visited lately and what he’d liked about each.

“All right, lads,” said Conor a few hours later. “Think I’m going to pay me tab and head out.”

“Think I will too,” agreed Bird. “It was nice to meet ya, Harry. Glad ya came around.”

“Hope we’ll see ya again soon,” said Conor. “Good chattin’ to ya.”

Harry nodded, a little smile on his lips. “Yeah. It was- I’m glad I came. It was nice to meet you too.”

The lads left and Harry and Niall were left alone at their booth.

“I’m glad ya came too, love,” said Niall. “It was nice. I’m happy ya met some o’ my mates. I think ya had a good time, yeah?”

Harry smiled and placed his hand on Niall’s where it lay on the table a few inches from his empty pint. “I did. They were very nice to me. And I think- I think I did okay. Talking to them.”

Niall smiled back, soft and kind. “Ya did. Knew ya would. Don’t think ya give yerself enough credit.” He flipped his hand to lace his fingers with Harry’s and said, “Maybe ya just need some practice.”

Harry gave Niall’s hand a gentle squeeze. “Maybe. Maybe you can help me.”

“O’ course.”

Niall arrived back at his flat forty-five minutes later, plans set to meet Harry outside St Paul’s at nine thirty the next morning.

When they met at the St Paul’s Cathedral bus stop on St Paul’s Churchyard, Harry greeted Niall with an adorable little wave.

“Hi, Niall,” he said, walking toward the lad.

“Mornin’, Harry,” said Niall, smiling. “Ya ready for our tour?”

Harry nodded. “We have to pay admission and reserve places for the ten o’clock tour first. But then we can just walk around the Churchyard while we wait.”

“Sounds all right,” said Niall. He reached his left hand out, offering it to Harry. “Shall we?”

Harry grinned and slipped his hand into Niall’s. “We shall.”

They made their way through the entrance and to the guiding desk, paying their admission and making reservations for the first guided tour of the morning.

They walked back to the north-east Churchyard and wandered around, walking past St Paul’s Cross and stopping to read the plaque at the base of the monument.

“Ya ever wonder why they used to write the letter U like a V?” asked Niall, looking over the plaque again.

“The Latin alphabet only had twenty-three letters,” said Harry. “And U wasn’t one of them. So they used V when they wrote and used context to figure out if it was a V sound or a U sound.”

Niall looked at Harry, brows raised and lips parted slightly in surprise. “D’ya know somethin’ about everythin’?” he asked, impressed with Harry’s seemingly endless knowledge.

“Of course not, Niall,” said Harry as a blush spread over his cheeks. “I just read a lot.”

“Yeah, I guess ya must.”

They moved away from the monument and headed back to the entrance, joining a group of people at the area marked as the meeting point for visitors taking the guided tour.

“This is so exciting, Niall,” gushed Harry. Niall turned to look at him, an eager expression on his face. Niall was reminded of his nephew Theo on Christmas morning.

“It is,” he agreed, giving Harry’s hand a light squeeze.

The tour started, the guide talking about the history and architecture of the Cathedral as they were led around the Cathedral floor and Crypt. They were taught about the Order of St Michael and St George as they walked around the Chapel of St Michael and St George. Harry was delighted by the Geometric Staircase—“Look how perfectly it spirals!”—and Niall was awed by the more than seventy mosaics in the Quire.

“Wow, Niall!” whispered Harry as they were guided back to the Cathedral’s main entrance. “That was even better than I thought it would be! The Quire was- Those mosaics were amazing. And they did them all in just ten years!”

“They were amazing,” agreed Niall. “Can’t imagine the amount of talent that went into them.”

The two lads made their way back to the Churchyard, wandering around the secluded garden of the North Churchyard and to the West end of the Cathedral—they stopped to admire the West Front with its pineapple-topped towers—before making their way to the South Churchyard.

“Could do a burger and chips,” said Niall as they walked down St Paul’s Churchyard, pointing across the street to Gourmet Burger Kitchen. “What d’ya think?”

“That sounds good,” agreed Harry, giving Niall a sweet smile. “Maybe even a milkshake.”

A half an hour later, Harry and Niall sat at a table in the restaurant, plates loaded with burgers and fries—an Avo Bacon burger with chunky fries for Harry and a Major Tom burger with sweet potato fries for Niall—and two milkshakes.

“Can’t believe ya chose banana when there’s a Double Belgian Chocolate shake on the menu,” said Niall. “Yer mad.”

Harry took a sip of his milkshake. “I love bananas, Niall,” he told Niall. “They’re my favourite fruit.”

“Mad,” said Niall again with a shake of his head.

As they finished eating a bit later, Niall decided to ask Harry something he’d been thinking about all day.

“Ya want to come to my place?” He felt a little nervous, though he wasn’t sure why because he’d been to Harry’s and he wasn’t asking Harry to stay the night. “Could pick up with _Stranger Things_. Maybe order a pizza when we get hungry later?”

“Are you inviting me for ‘Netflix and chill’?” asked Harry with a sly smirk, looking at Niall from under his lashes.

“Not- not like that,” said Niall, blushing. “Just- Really just to watch telly and hang out. I don’t mean—”

“I’d like that,” said Harry, biting his lip. “Watching telly and hanging out with you.”

Niall was thrown by the coyness in Harry’s behaviour, though he couldn’t say he was put off.

The exact opposite, actually.

He swallowed and said, “Good. That’s- that’s good then.”

They arrived at Niall’s flat about forty-five minutes later, Niall leading Harry nervously into his home. He understood how Harry had felt the week before when he’d welcomed Niall into his house.

“I thought I had a lot of records,” said Harry as he looked around Niall’s living room, “but you have, like, so many.”

Niall shrugged. “Like six hundred-somethin’.”

“Can I look at them?”

Niall nodded, grinning. “Course ya can. Why don’t ya pick somethin’ and we’ll put it on?” He watched as Harry moved further into the room, walking toward the wall of records. “Goin’ to get somethin’ to drink. Ya want anythin’?”

“Maybe just some water, please,” said Harry, reaching a finger out to trace over the spines of a row of records.

Niall went to the kitchen and filled two glasses with water, tucking a bottle of beer under his arm.

“You know who Roger Miller is?” asked Harry, sounding shocked and awed.

“Course I do,” said Niall, placing the water glasses on the coffee table and twisting the cap off his beer. “Grew up with me da listenin’ to him all the time.” He took a swig of his beer and looked at Harry, brows furrowed. “How do you know who he is?”

“ _Robin Hood_ was always my favourite Disney movie,” Harry told him. “We had it on- My sister and I used to watch it on VHS. My mum still has it. I’m surprised it even plays still.”

“I’ve been trying to get me hands on that soundtrack for years now,” said Niall. “It’s a devil to find.”

“Hmm,” hummed Harry as he pulled a copy of Roger Miller’s _The 3rd Time Around_ off the shelf. “Can we listen to this?”

Niall looked at the record, eyes widened slightly; how many times had he listened to that record in the weeks following his break up, replaying Side A over and over while Roger sang, “ _Too bad what’s happened to our good love. Sometimes our best isn’t quite good enough and the last word in lonesome is me._ ”

“Sure,” he said. “Just don’t judge me if I start cryin’ durin’ ‘One Dyin’ And A Buryin’.”

Harry smiled softly. “I won’t. I’ll probably be crying too.”

They put on the record, listening and occasionally singing along to the first two tracks. When the third track, a song titled “The Last Word In Lonesome Is Me”—the song Niall had listened to over and over after Shawn had broken up with him—began, Niall busied himself with his bottle of beer, eyes focused on the label as he held it against his knee between swigs.

It was interesting, he thought, that he considered himself to be completely over Shawn, to have moved on and past the hurt and heartbreak. He was. He knew he was because he hardly ever even thought about Shawn anymore.

He thought about Harry most of the time.

But this song was making him think not of Shawn but of the emotional time after Shawn had left.

“Are you all right, Niall?” asked Harry from beside him, voice gentle and sweet.

Niall blinked and looked at Harry. “Yeah,” he said. He gave Harry a bittersweet smile, a little sad but also, in an odd way, happy; he was sure Harry’s presence was the reason for the happiness he felt. “Just that song brings up, like, memories. Some weird thoughts I don’t like very much.”

“Oh.” Harry’s brows raised and Niall wondered if he had connected the dots. He was a very smart lad. “We can stop listening to this record. If you want. We can put on, um- I saw you have _Graceland_. We can put that on instead.”

Niall reached over and dropped a hand to Harry’s knee, squeezing gently. “No. It’s okay.” He smiled again, a bit less sad, and said, “You’re here.”

Harry smiled back.

A while later, after listening to Paul Simon’s _Graceland_ —they learnt that they both considered it one of their top five albums of all time—Harry and Niall sat watching _Stranger Things_.

“Niall,” said Harry quietly, sounding a little shy and a touch embarrassed. “Can we pause it for- for a few minutes? I’ve got to, um, I’ve got to use the toilet.”

“Yeah, o’ course.” Niall grabbed the remote and pressed pause. “Can order a pizza if ya want. I’m gettin’ hungry.”

“That sounds good,” agreed Harry.

Harry got up from the sofa and crossed the room, heading in the direction Niall had pointed him, and Niall took advantage of the time to get another beer and refill their water glasses.

A few minutes later, Harry peeked into the kitchen.

“I like sausage and green peppers,” he said as he stepped over the threshold.

“Sounds all right,” said Niall. “I’ll call it in for delivery. Ya want anythin’ else? Salad or garlic knots or anythin’?”

“Maybe both?” he asked, a sheepish look on his face.

“Course. Anythin’ ya want.”

Niall called the restaurant and placed their order before going back to the living room to return to their _Stranger Things_ marathon.

“They said about forty minutes,” Niall told Harry. “Reckon that’s pretty good for a Saturday night.”

“Yeah,” said Harry with a nod.

Niall sat down, picking up the remote and resuming the show. “Probably have time to finish this last episode before the food gets here.”

Just as Niall had predicted, the last episode of the series was ending when a knock came at his door.

“Be right back,” he said, pushing himself off the sofa and crossing the room to the door. He turned the knob and said, the door swinging open, “Hey, mate.” He looked into the hallway and felt his heartbeat speeding up. “What are you doing here?”

“Hi, Niall,” said Shawn. “I’d like to- I want to talk.” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and asked, “Can I come in?”

“O’ course not,” said Niall, standing aghast, eyes wide.

“Please, Niall,” said Shawn, sounding a little desperate. “I just want to talk.”

Niall shook his head in dismay. “But I don’t.”

“I miss you, Niall,” Shawn told him. “I think- I made a mistake. Breaking up with you.”

Niall shook his head. “Well, that’s too bad. I’ve moved on.”

“What does that mean?” asked Shawn, looking a bit crestfallen.

“It means that I’ve learnt to live without you,” Niall told him. “I’ve found things that make me happy again.”

“Niall?” came Harry’s voice from behind him. “Do you want me to get”—he paused—“Oh. Um. I’ll—”

“I’m guessing that’s one of the things that makes you happy?” said Shawn, tone suddenly bitter.

Niall nodded. “Yeah. He is.”

“Are you kidding?” snapped Shawn, taking a step just inside the door. “This- this- this,” he sputtered and Niall wondered what word he was searching for. “Him?”

“Yes. Him,” said Niall, gesturing toward Harry. “Harry.”

“I- I should go,” said Harry.

“No. Harry,” said Niall almost pleadingly, turning to the lad and noticing how incredibly uncomfortable he looked. He turned back to Shawn. “Shawn should leave.”

“That’s- It’s okay, Niall,” said Harry, walking toward Niall.

“Harry. Please.”

“I’ll- I’ll see you tomorrow? If you still want to- want to hang out?” said Harry, sounding shy and uncertain.

“Course I do,” Niall told him, brows furrowed, unsure why Harry would think he wouldn’t still want to hang out. “But please don’t leave. Shawn’s—”

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” said Harry again. “I’ll text you in the morning.”

Niall sighed. “All right. G’night, Harry.” He leant forward to kiss Harry’s cheek and felt his heart fall into his stomach when Harry pulled back and stepped away from him.

“Good night, Niall,” said Harry, moving past Shawn and out the door, head ducked.

Both Shawn and Niall watched as Harry disappeared down the stairs.

“Leave, Shawn,” said Niall.

“Excuse me,” came a voice from the hallway. “I’ve got a delivery for, uh, Niall?”

Niall grimaced. “Yeah. Fuck.” He’d forgot about the pizza. “I’m Niall.”

The delivery lad handed Niall the pizza, a paper bag with the salad and garlic knots balanced on top of the box, and said, “You’re all set, mate. Receipt’s in the bag.”

“Thanks,” said Niall. “Have a- have a good night.”

“Yeah. You too,” he said as he turned and walked away.

“You going to eat that all by yourself?” asked Shawn.

Niall shook his head. “No. I’m going to save some to have for lunch when Harry comes over tomorrow,” he said pointedly, defiant and challenging.

Shawn looked disgusted. “I didn’t realise you liked faggy little boys like that.”

Niall seethed with anger. “I didn’t realise you were such a homophobic arse,” he said. “Get the fuck out!” he growled, wishing his hands weren’t full so he could push Shawn out of the door. “Get out! Get out!”

“Niall—”

“Leave!” shouted Niall, filled with a hatred toward the lad that he’d never thought possible, even at his lowest point after their break up.

Without another word, Shawn turned and left.

Niall kicked the door closed behind himself, leaning against the hard wood for a moment as he took a few deep breaths to calm himself. Finally, the weight of the pizza and salad getting to be too much, he made his way into the kitchen and placed the food on the counter.

He returned to the living room, finding his phone on the coffee table and unlocking it. He opened his messages and then his conversation thread with Harry.

 _I’m sorry Harry . That was definitely not how i wanted today to end,_ typed Niall. He sent the message, pressing a hand to his face and shaking his head.

_It’s ok Niall._

_No harry. You looked so uncomfortable and i don’t blame you_ . _I’m sorry._ He finished typing and sent his message at the same time Harry’s next message appeared on the screen.

 _It was a wonderful day even if it didn’t end on the best note_ , read Harry’s message. _Yeah it was a little awkward but it’s ok_ 😬

 _you missdd the pizza_ , said Niall, walking back to the kitchen and sliding the paper bag from the pizza box before flipping the lid back. _Could come back if you want he’s gone now._

He opened the cabinet next to the sink and pulled out a plate. Maybe Harry would come back and they could continue with their evening, return to the sofa and the next series of _Stranger Things_ with pizza and garlic knots and beer.

Niall took three slices of pizza from the pie and put them on his plate, grabbing up his phone from the kitchen counter and going back to the living room.

 _Thanks Niall but I’m almost home_ , came Harry’s reply and Niall pouted, sighing. _I’ll come over tomorrow though if you still want? I can bring the book and we can still pick our menu if you want to do that still?_

Niall wasn’t sure why Harry was questioning whether he still wanted him to come or not, why he seemed to think Niall might not still want to keep to their plans.

He sat on the sofa, putting his plate on the coffee table, and typed out a message.

 _Of course I still want you to come over and i want to choose our menu and do everything we planned I wish you were still here_ , said Niall, hoping to assuage any doubts Harry had. _I love spending time with you. You know that. Or you should with the number of times i’ve told you!_

 _Yeah. I know_ 💕 _I like spending time with you too._

Niall pulled his plate onto his lap and found the remote on the sofa, searching through Netflix for something to watch.

After four pieces of pizza, a third beer, and a few hours spent flipping between programs that didn’t really interest him, Niall went to bed.

He woke up at about half past nine the next morning and found a text from Harry.

_Good morning Niall. Let me know if you want me to come over and what time._

There it was again. If. Niall really couldn’t understand why Harry was suddenly so doubtful.

 _Course I want you to come, love! Why don’t we plan for noon?_ he responded.

At just a few minutes past noon, there was a knock on Niall’s door. He rushed across the living room and into the little hallway, pulling the door open.

“Hi, love!” he said, stepping to the side to let Harry into the flat.

“Hi, Niall,” said Harry as he moved past Niall. “I, um, I brought the book. So we can plan our menu and- and everything.”

“Great,” said Niall. “Ya want anythin’ to drink? Got some leftover pizza we can have later. Only ate four pieces last night.”

“I’ll have some tea. If that’s not too much trouble.”

“Course it’s not,” Niall assured him. “I’ll go turn on the kettle.”

“Okay,” said Harry. “Thanks.”

Niall turned toward the kitchen and noticed Harry following him.

“We can sit in the living room or at the dining table,” Niall told him. “Whatever you want.”

“Maybe the dining table. It’ll probably be easier to, like, to spread out the book and make our list and- and everything.”

“Reckon yer right.”

“Did you invite him here?” asked Harry suddenly.

Niall turned to look at Harry. “What?” he asked, thrown by the non sequitur.

“Did you invite him here last night?” Harry asked quietly, looking both embarrassed and nervous.

Niall’s brow furrowed and he shook his head. “No. O’ course I didn’t.” He took a step toward Harry, studying his face. “Why would I?”

Harry looked truly uncomfortable. “So he would, like, so he would see me and- I don’t know. So he would be jealous or- or something.”

“Why would I want him to be jealous?”

Harry shrugged, a sad pout tugging at his lips. “So he would take you back.”

Niall stared at Harry, mouth parted; he suddenly understood why Harry wouldn’t let him kiss his cheek before he’d left the night before, why he’d been doubtful that Niall would still want to hang out, why he seemed so awkward and uncomfortable.

He reached out and took Harry’s hands. “I don’t want him to take me back, Harry,” he said seriously, genuine and honest. “Never realised what a repressed, homophobic arse he is until last night. He said something”—he shook his head—“Doesn’t matter.” Niall smiled gently. “I told ya that I like you. And I mean it. I want”—he blew out a deep exhale—“I’d like it if ya’d be my boyfriend. Like, not just goin’ on these dates and hangin’ out. Be my boyfriend, Harry. Please? So I can, like, so I can kiss ya proper.”

Harry’s eyes widened, a surprised expression on his face. “Do you really- Do you mean that? Like, you want- you want to be my boyfriend? You want me to be your boyfriend?”

Niall smiled, giving Harry’s hands a gentle squeeze. “Wouldn’t’ve asked if I didn’t mean it.”

Harry smiled back, shy and sweet. “I’d- Yeah, I’d like that a lot. To be your boyfriend. It’s- I like that. ‘My boyfriend Niall.’” He blushed and his smile deepened, dimples pressing into his cheeks. “That sounds- Yes.” Harry nodded. “I’ll be your boyfriend.”

“Good,” said Niall with a relieved sigh. “Ya make me happy, love. Ya- It sounds cliche and cheesy but ya got me out o’ me comfort zone or whatever. Tryin’ new things. And I needed that.” He paused, gaze unwavering as he squeezed Harry’s hands again. “I needed you.”

Harry’s mouth opened, lips quirked up into a small smile, and he looked almost awed by Niall’s words.

“I- I feel the same way. Like, you- I never do things with other people because, you know, they always- they stand me up. And it makes me feel like a- pathetic and lonely,” Harry told Niall. “But you treat me different and I don’t feel- I don’t feel lonely now. I’ve got a friend.” He smiled shyly and corrected himself. “A boyfriend. And you’ve got me to, like, to get out of my comfort zone.”

Niall grinned brightly. “Glad we agree on that. Glad all them other lads stood ya up.” He chuckled and then shook his head, brows furrowed as he realised what he’d said. “Not really. I’m not glad ya were made to feel rejected. Just if they hadn’t, I probably wouldn’t o’ met ya.”

“Nobody ever had a rainbow, baby, until he had the rain,” sang Harry quietly.

Niall shook his head again, almost unbelieving. “Ya got to have some flaws but I haven’t seen any yet.”

Harry looked mildly confused. “What?”

“Ya know Jim Croce.”

Harry nodded. “Of course I do. He’s- he’s one of my favourites.”

“Oh, love,” said Niall, smiling. He dropped one of Harry’s hands and tugged the other, leading him into the living room. In the center of the room, he let go of Harry’s hand and walked toward the shelves lined with records, stopping in front of a row by the door to his bedroom. He pulled a record from the shelf and moved to the record player. “Sit down, yeah,” he said, looking back at Harry where he still stood in the middle of the room.

Niall placed the record on the turntable, turning it on and crossing the room as the first notes of “You Don’t Mess Around With Jim” filled the small room.

Harry smiled. “I love this album.”

Fifteen minutes later, as “Walkin’ Back To Georgia” ended and the tone arm lifted from the record, Niall got up from the sofa where he’d joined Harry.

“I’ll put on the kettle now, yeah,” he said. “Can flip it if ya want.”

When the record was over, Harry and Niall sat at the dining table with steaming mugs of tea, Ottolenghi’s _Plenty_ open on the table between them.

“Oh, this will be so fun!” said Harry, adding _za’atar_ and _date syrup_ to the bottom of their shopping list. He looked up at Niall, eyes sparkling with excitement. “Wait until you see Phoenicia! There are so many interesting things. The spice section is amazing and there’s- I mean, just wait!”

“Yer too adorable,” said Niall with a lovestruck smile. “Gettin’ excited over the spice section.”

Harry looked slightly shamed. “It’s- Yeah, I know. It’s a bit weird, isn’t it? I’m just- I—”

“Not weird,” Niall told him, shaking his head. “I like that yeh’ve got yer different interests. Nothin’ borin’ with ya. That’s- It’s one o’ the things I liked about ya when we were first gettin’ to know each other.”

“Yeah?” said Harry, looking hopefully at Niall.

Niall nodded and placed a hand on Harry’s thigh. “Told ya that ya get me out me comfort zone. Gettin’ me all excited ‘bout spices. Never thought that would happen.”

“You’re excited?” asked Harry.

“Course I am,” Niall told him.

“Good,” said Harry, beaming at Niall with his dimpled smile.

A few hours later, after their menu was planned and shopping list for the following Saturday’s grocery trip finished, they sat in Niall’s living room again.

“Ya ready?” Niall asked Harry, grabbing the remote and settling back onto the sofa.

Harry nodded. “Yeah.”

Niall got everything set, Netflix open to the first episode of _Stranger Things 2_.

“Harry,” he said after a few minutes, “we can have a bit of a cuddle.” He turned deeper into the corner of the sofa and lifted a leg up onto the seat, spreading his legs to make room for Harry to sit between them.

Harry looked at him, eyes wide. He looked a little startled, hesitant, and Niall added softly, “Only if ya want. If yer not- If ya aren’t comfortable—”

“Yes.”

Niall blinked. He wasn’t sure if Harry meant yes, he wanted to cuddle or if he was confirming he didn’t feel comfortable. The thought passed quickly, though, when Harry moved toward him. Almost face-to-face, Harry gave a tiny smile and then turned to settle in between Niall’s legs.

Harry’s back against his front, Niall reached a hand out to rest on Harry’s right hip. Tempted, Niall resisted the urge to slip his fingers under the hem on Harry’s shirt to tickle the soft skin of his stomach. He wasn’t sure what level of intimacy Harry would feel comfortable with, what level of intimacy he’d experienced before.

They could work to that, he decided, and turned his attention back to the telly.

When the first episode was over, they paused the show before the second could start. Harry went to the bathroom and Niall headed to the kitchen, pulling the leftover pizza from the refrigerator and placing it on the counter.

“Cold or warmed?” he asked Harry when he walked into the kitchen a few minutes later.

“Is it weird that I like pizza better cold the next day?” questioned Harry.

Niall chuckled. “Nah. Yer right.”

Harry smiled and followed Niall’s lead, taking a couple slices of pizza from the cardboard box and dropping them onto a plate Niall had handed him.

Back in the living room, the two lads took their seats on the sofa.

“I’ve never had a boyfriend before,” said Harry suddenly, sounding a touch nervous. “I mean, you probably- you probably guessed that. Since, you know, since everyone stands me up and, like, and—”

“I wondered,” said Niall. He looked at Harry and noticed the combination of embarrassment and concern that clouded his face. “I don’t mind,” he said, guessing Harry thought he would find it off-putting. “Just means I get to be yer first. Not yer fault that other lads were too stupid to give ya a chance.”

Harry’s eyes widened and he smiled bashfully. “I’m really glad you like me, Niall. I- I really like you.”

Niall moved his plate from his lap to the coffee table. He turned back to Harry and leant toward him. Slowly, as if nervous he would scare Harry away, he brought his hand up to cup Harry’s jaw. Fingers light and gentle, he traced along Harry’s cheekbone with his thumb. He leant in farther still and, eyes closing, pressed a soft kiss to Harry’s lips.

Harry inhaled sharply through his nose, surprised, and then returned the kiss. It was delicate, careful, sweet. After just a few short moments, Niall pulled back and opened his eyes.

He focused on Harry, his thumb still drawing feather-light circles on Harry’s cheek and jaw.

Harry’s eyes were wide and fixed on Niall, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. “Was that okay?” he asked nervously, brows furrowing slightly.

“Yeah. It was perfect, love.” Niall smiled and leant in again, pecking Harry’s lips sweetly. “Glad all them other lads were so stupid.”

Harry’s lips quirked into a crooked smile and he giggled.

They returned to their show, starting the next episode and enjoying their pizza. Niall was pleased when Harry set his empty plate on the coffee table and cuddled back into his arms.

“We should do a class this week,” suggested Niall a little while later. “I was lookin’ at the schedule and there’s a Chinese takeaway class on Wednesday night. Thought it might be fun.”

“Yeah. That would be a good one,” agreed Harry. “Then we could make our own lo mein instead of ordering out.”

When Harry finally decided to head home at around half past seven, Niall followed him to the door and waited while he slipped his loafers on.

“I’ll see ya Wednesday night, love,” said Niall, stepping toward Harry. “It’s my turn to bring the wine, yeah?”

Harry nodded and then, before Niall could even think about what was about to happen, leant forward and kissed Niall. It was a bit sloppy at first—Niall caught unaware and unprepared threw off Harry’s aim slightly—but once Niall’s brain had caught up, he returned the kiss. Their lips moved together in an endearingly awkward kiss, Harry’s inexperience only serving to deepen Niall’s affection for the lad.

When Harry pulled back, Niall smiled softly and said, “Love that I get to be the first lad ya kissed goodbye at the door.”

“Am I that bad?” asked Harry, sounding worried. “Is it that obvious?”

“Not bad at all, love,” Niall reassured him. “Just figured since ya never had a boyfriend yeh’ve probably never kissed a lad goodbye at the end of a date.”

“Oh,” said Harry sheepishly. “Yeah. That’s- You’re my first.”

Niall smiled. “Good night, pet. Text me when ya get home so I know yer safe.”

Harry blushed and nodded. “Okay, Niall.” He walked to the door and, with one final goodbye and a little wave of his ringed fingers, left Niall’s flat.

Wednesday couldn’t come soon enough, Niall thought on Monday night as he sat at his dining table eating the very last of Saturday night’s cold pizza and wilted salad.

 _This salad’s awful_ , he typed, sending the message to Harry and following it with a picture of the two-day-old salad.

Harry’s response came only a few moments later. _Ew gross Niall. Why are you eating it?!_

_Didn’t want to waste it._

_Throw it away! it looks rotten!_

Niall looked at the salad and chuckled to himself. It didn’t look that bad. He took a bite and picked up his phone.

 _What wine should I get for wednesday?_ he asked, eager because he hadn’t stopped thinking about Harry since he’d left the night before.

 _I’ll figure it out,_ replied Harry. 😍🍷

The next afternoon as Niall was eating his lunch—thankfully not leftover pizza and salad but a curried chicken salad sandwich—he got a couple of texts from Harry.

 _Lambrusco should be a nice one for our menu tomorrow_ , read the message. _If you can’t find it just an unoaked Chardonnay would be the next choice._

“Ya ever hear of Lambrusco?” he asked Steph, looking across the staff lunch table at his friend. “Like, the kind o’ wine?”

“Yeah. It’s a sparkling red wine from Italy,” Steph told him. “Why?”

“Just Harry said it’ll be good for our menu in class tomorrow night,” said Niall, opening his phone to respond to Harry’s text. “It’s my turn to bring the wine.”

“How are things going with Harry?” asked Steph. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with him.”

“Oh.” Niall looked up at his friend again. “Um. We’re, like- I asked him to- He’s my boyfriend now.”

Steph’s eyes widened as she looked at Niall, brows raising to show her surprise. “Niall!”

“What?” he asked, feeling a little nervous.

“Boyfriend! It wasn’t even, what, two weeks ago you were worried about asking him out because you thought he’d think he was just a rebound.”

“You told me to just hang out with him and see what happens. Let it go from there. So I did and”—Niall shrugged, sheepish—“turns out he does fancy me back. We have a good time together and he makes me happy. Not just, like, he makes me forget about Shawn for a while but I don’t care about Shawn. I’m just thinkin’ about Harry now.”

Steph smiled. “That’s good, Niall. I’m happy for you.”

Niall smiled back. “Thanks, Steph.”

Niall had to stop at three different shops before he found a bottle of Lambrusco but he’d been determined to get it.

His determination paid off when he arrived at Sur La Table the next day, sliding into a chair next to Harry and leaning over to give him a sweet kiss.

“Hi, love,” he said as he pulled back.

“Hi, Niall,” said Harry, smiling wide, eyes sparkling and dimples etched deep into his flushed cheeks.

“Got yer wine,” Niall told him. “Had to go three places. Bit of a tricky one.”

“You could have just got the Chardonnay,” said Harry, apologetic. “You didn’t have to—”

“Wanted to, though, didn’t I,” said Niall simply. He grinned. “Got to make sure my boy has what he wants if I can.”

Harry’s blush deepened, his cheeks rosy and pink.

“Hey, lads,” said Meggie as she walked into the kitchen.

“Hi, Meggie,” said Harry.

“Hello,” Niall greeted the instructor.

“Did you lads do any cooking over the weekend?” she asked as she washed her hands. “Experiment with anything?”

Niall shook his head. “We didn’t cook anything but we made up a menu and shopping list for this weekend. We’re going to- What’s it called?” he asked, turning to look at Harry.

“Phoenicia,” said Harry.

“Right. Phoenicia on Saturday to do all of our shopping so we can have everything we need for Sunday.”

“Ohh,” said Meggie. “Phoenicia’s fun. They’ve got a great spice section.”

Harry beamed. “That’s what I told Niall.”

“What’ve you got planned for your menu?” asked Meggie.

Harry and Niall launched into a description of their menu, complete with the hard-to-find ingredients they would need to buy at Phoenicia.

“That sounds like a great menu,” Meggie told them. “I’m glad to hear you’re having fun with cooking and trying new things. Especially you, Niall. I remember your first class a couple months ago. You’ve learnt a lot and your skills have improved.”

“You lot got me out me comfort zone,” agreed Niall. “It’s been great. Got me through a bit of a rough patch, if I’m being honest.” He looked at Harry and gave him a soft smile.

Meggie watched for a moment before saying, a bit rushed like she wasn’t sure she should say it, “I know it’s not really my place to say this but you two are very sweet together. I think your friendship is wonderful.”

“Yeah. It’s- Harry’s really changed a lot for me. Helped me find happiness again,” Niall said, reaching to take Harry’s hand in his own and squeezing. Harry squeezed back and Niall added, “I know that’s sappy but, like, that’s why I asked him to be me boyfriend. Or one reason, anyway.”

“Aww!” said Meggie, sounding happier than Niall would have expected a casual acquaintence—his cooking teacher—to be for him. “That’s- I’m so happy. You’re just two of the loveliest lads and you deserve to be happy.”

Harry spoke up for the first time. “Niall doesn’t even care that I’m a little- that I’m weird. Which is nice because most lads think I’m strange and, like, and don’t even show up when we’ve made a date.”

Meggie nodded. “I remember that night you were supposed to meet a lad here for a class and he never came. I felt so bad because you’re such a sweet boy. That’s just such a dickhead thing to do to anyway.”

“Yeah. It makes me angry to think about, to be honest,” said Niall. “But I guess everything worked out for both of us, yeah?”

Harry smiled sweetly and nodded. “Yeah. It did.”

A little while later, they stood at the tables filling their dumplings with the pork and chive mixture they’d made earlier.

“It’s nice that Meggie is happy for us,” said Harry.

“It is,” agreed Niall. “She’s seen our relationship, like, from the start and she thinks it’s good we’re together now.”

“We both do,” said Aaron, reaching between them to take the mixing bowl, emptied of the last bits of dumpling filling. “Had a bet going, actually.” He grinned. “I won.”

Harry blinked in surprise. “What?”

“What was the bet?” asked Niall, remembering his guess that Meggie and Aaron had some sort of bet going after they’d told them about their first weekend spent hanging out.

“I said you’d be together in less than three months,” Aaron told them. “Meggie thought it would take longer.”

“Why did you think we’d end up, like, being boyfriends?” asked Harry, blushing.

“It seems like you make each other happy and you have a good time together,” said Aaron. “Everyone thinks you’re good together.”

“Oh,” said Harry. “I- I think so too.”

Niall nodded. “We are. We do- Harry does make me happy.”

Harry smiled, pleased and a little bashful.

“I’d like ya to meet me mates, love,” Niall told Harry a bit later while they ate the food they’d prepared—the dumplings with a soy-ginger dipping sauce, shrimp lo mein, sesame chicken, and sweet almond cookies—and drank their wine. “Like, all of them. Unless yer really uncomfortable. Won’t force ya to if ya don’t want. But I know they’d love to meet ya. Been asking for ages.”

“O-kay,” said Harry tentatively. “Um, when?”

“Was thinkin’ Friday night. Have ‘em ‘round me flat.” Niall shrugged. “Thought that might make ya a little more comfortable than out at the pub.”

“Yeah. That would- that would be nice,” said Harry with a nod. “I’d like that.”

“Good,” said Niall. “I’d like that too.”

Niall spent the next day texting the lads, setting plans for the following evening, and then sent Harry a message.

_The lads’ll be over around 7 tomorrow right. You can come whenever you want though. I should be home by 5._

Harry’s response came quickly. _Maybe I’ll come earlier if that’s ok? So i don’t just like walk into a big group of people?_

 _of course it’s ok love,_ Niall assured him. _Can come right at 5 if you want._

 _Maybe a little later because i’ll want to go home and change_ , said Harry.

_Don’t want me to see you in your suit?_

_Do you want to?_ asked Harry.

Yes, thought Niall, he did want to see Harry in a suit because he was sure he looked beautiful in a suit—he looked beautiful in everything, really—but he wanted Harry to be comfortable.

 _Course I do. But wear whatever your comfortable wearing,_ he replied. _Plenty of other times for me to see you in a suit. Maybe we can go somewhere posh for dinner some night._

😊 _that would be nice_

Niall stopped at the off license near his flat on his way home from work, picking up a few different types of beer and a bottle of rosé—it was called _Love Noir_ and had a pretty label that Niall thought Harry would like—for the following evening.

He spent the evening tidying his flat; his friends wouldn’t care, he knew, and Harry had been there but now it felt different somehow.

When Niall woke up the next morning, he sent Harry a quick message. _Good morning love! I cant wait to see you tonight!_

Harry’s text came as Niall was making himself tea in his travel mug.

_Good monring, Niall! I’ll see you later. Is like 6 ok?_

Niall set the timer for his tea—five minutes exactly because Irish Breakfast was terrible when it was oversteeped—and picked up his phone.

 _Course it is! I should be home by half 5 at the latest_.

 _ok niall_ 😊

Niall couldn’t help but think that the day seemed to drag by as he waited for his last period class to end. He was giddy with excitement—silly, he thought, but kind of an exhilarating feeling—and was eager to get home. He’d Googled rosé wine to see if it should be chilled on his way to work that morning, not having thought of it the night before, and found that it should; he’d need to rush home to get it in the refrigerator so it would be at least partially chilled by the time Harry arrived.

When the bell finally rang to signify the end of the period, Niall rushed to organise his desk and hurried to the staff room to grab his jacket and lunchbox.

“Have a good weekend, Niall,” said Steph. “Enjoy your time with your boy.”

Niall smiled at his friend. “Thanks, Steph. I will.” He slipped his arms into his jacket and added, “You have a good weekend too. I’ll see ya Monday.”

He raced out of the building and to the bus stop, boarding the bus that would take him back to Bromley.

He unlocked the door to his flat a bit later, pushing open the door and walking in. He headed straight to the kitchen, grabbing the bottle of rosé from where it sat on the counter and putting it in the fridge.

Wine chilling, Niall made his way to his bedroom. He felt nervous, still giddy with excitement, and found himself worrying about what he should change into for the evening. He didn’t want to look too casual, like he didn’t care about his appearance, but didn’t want to look too formal either.

He settled on a pair of lavender purple trousers—they fitted him well, he thought, and he suspected Harry would notice little details like that—and a simple black shirt tucked in at the waist.

Niall went back to the kitchen, setting up a cheese board—when had he become a cheese board person?—as well as several bowls of different crisps and dips, pretzels, and mixed nuts.

There was a knock on Niall’s door at just after six o’clock. He crossed the living room where he was arranging the snacks on the coffee table and side table and walked toward the door.

He pulled it open and found Harry on the other side. “Hi, love,” he greeted the boy. He scanned Harry from head to toe, taking in his outfit. It was, Niall felt sure, something only Harry could pull off.

He wore pink trousers with a black and white striped shirt that scooped low enough at the neckline to reveal the tops of what Niall knew to be swallows tattooed beneath his collarbones. The finishing touch, though, was the blood red jacket with hot pink lapels.

“Ya look wonderful, Harry,” said Niall.

“Thanks, Niall,” said Harry with a pleased smile, cheeks tinted with a rose-pink blush. “So do you. Your trousers are”—he blushed deeper still—“very flattering.”

“Thanks,” said Niall, happy with his decision. “Now come in. I’ve got ya some wine but it’s probably not chilled enough yet. Forgot to check last night to see if it needs to chill so I only just put it in the fridge when I got home.”

“You got me wine?” asked Harry, sounding surprised.

“Course I did,” Niall told him. “Got a pretty label. The bloke at the store said it’s a good one too so hopefully yeh’ll like it.”

“You didn’t have to get me wine, Niall,” said Harry.

“Wanted to, though.” Niall smiled. “Now come on,” he said again, taking Harry’s hand and leading him toward the kitchen. “D’ya want to let the wine chill a bit longer or d’ya want some now?”

“I’ll, um, I’ll wait a bit,” said Harry. “For the lads to get here.”

Niall nodded. “Ya want to pick a record? Can listen to some music and maybe, like, chat ‘til the lads get here. About our days or somethin’.” He smiled and nudged Harry’s shoulder with his own. “Like boyfriends do.”

“Okay,” agreed Harry with a grin.

They made their way to the living room and Harry crossed the room to the shelves of records. After a few minutes, he pulled the Maccabees’ album _Given to the Wild_ down.

“I love the Maccabees,” said Harry. “This album is just so- so ethereal.”

“Dreamy,” said Niall at the same time. He smiled. “Yeah.”

Harry put the record on the turntable and turned it on, watching the needle lift and fall onto the spinning record before joining Niall where he sat on the sofa.

The album played quietly, the soundtrack to their conversation as they talked about work and cooking classes and the weekend of cooking they had ahead of them.

At just about seven o’clock, there was a knock on the door. Niall went to answer it, leaving Harry on the sofa nibbling at cheese from the cheese board.

He returned a minute later with Bird and Conor in tow.

“Hey, Harry,” greeted Bird, dropping into an armchair.

“Hi, lad,” said Conor.

“Hi, Bird,” said Harry, giving a shy little wave. “Hi, Conor.”

“Beer?” asked Niall. Conor and Bird nodded. “Want some wine now, love?” he asked Harry.

“Um, yes. Please, Niall.”

Niall left the room again, this time to get their drinks, and heard Bird ask Harry kindly, “Had a good week, lad?”

“Oh,” said Harry and Niall could hear the nerves in his voice. “Yes, thanks. Um, a little busy with some orders. But, um. Yeah. Good.” He paused for a moment and then said, tone a little more confident now, “How about you? Did you have a good week? Both of you?”

Niall took three beers from the fridge and then grabbed the bottle of rosé, placing them on the counter and unearthing a corkscrew from the back of the silverware drawer. He opened it up and, after cutting the foil on the bottle, began to twist the worm into the cork. He rested the bootlever on the rim of the bottle and gripped, pulling it up to remove the cork.

He tugged upward and found half of the cork on the worm, the rest still snug in the bottle.

Another knock came at the door and Niall dropped the corkscrew to the counter, sighing and making his way to the door.

“Louis,” he said, sounding relieved when he opened the door and found his friend on the other side. “I need yer help.”

“Yeah. Good evening to you, too,” said Louis, rolling his eyes. “What do you need?”

“I’m trying to open this bottle of wine for Harry and I broke the cork.”

Five minutes later, Niall and Louis walked into the living room.

“Lads,” said Louis by way of greeting, handing Bird and Conor bottles of beer.

“Harry,” said Niall, taking his seat next to Harry again, “this is Louis Querelle.” He slid his arm behind Harry’s back and tugged him a bit closer to his side. “Louis. Me boyfriend Harry.”

Louis’ eyebrows raised and lowered quickly, almost imperceptibly, though Niall caught the look of surprise. It was replaced with a smile. “Hey, Harry,” he said, moving toward the sofa and extending a hand to shake Harry’s. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“So,” said Conor, settling back into his chair, “boyfriend?”

Harry blushed and Niall nodded. “Yeah. Boyfriend. Asked him last weekend, didn’t I?”

“Yes,” agreed Harry. “I- I said yes because I like Niall a lot. And I’m glad he likes me.” He gave Niall a soft little smile.

“We’re glad ya like him,” Bird told him, supportive and friendly. “He’s been talkin’ about ya since the first cooking class.”  

“Yer good for him,” Conor chimed in. “Ya make him happy. Make him smile like I haven’t seen in ages.”

Gerry arrived a bit later and was introduced to Harry. Like the other lads, he was happy to hear about Harry and Niall’s new relationship status.

“Good for you, lads,” he said, taking a sip of the beer Louis had grabbed from the kitchen on his way in. “Sounds like ya always have fun together. I think yer a good pair.”

The rest of the evening passed pleasantly. The lads asked Harry about his hobbies and interests, learning about his love for cooking and music—a love they all shared—and yoga, art museums and architecture, and everything in between.

“Well, I can tell why Niall thinks you’re so fascinating,” Louis told Harry a while later. “Seems like you know something about everything.”

Harry blushed. “Not- I don’t know about everything.”

“It’ll be nice havin’ ya ‘round,” said Conor. “As long as yer comfortable with us, I mean. Reckon I’ll learn somethin’ from ya every time I see ya.”

“Yeah. I’ll”—Harry nodded, smiling bashfully—“I’ll be around. You’re all very nice and, like, welcoming. I don’t really have any friends because most people think I’m too weird or- or they make me uncomfortable. But none of you do. I feel, like- You just think I’m interesting and I just feel comfortable with all of you.”

“That’s good then,” said Bird kindly with a grin. “Yeh’ve got friends now, yeah?”

Harry’s eyes widened and Niall knew he was shocked to hear Bird tell him they were friends, just as he had been when Niall had told Harry he considered him a friend.

“Thanks, Bird.” He looked around the room at all of the lads. “Thank you. That’s”—he blushed, equal parts embarrassed and pleased—“It’s nice to have friends.”

Everyone left at around midnight.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, love,” said Niall when Harry stopped to kiss Niall goodnight at the door. “Get home safe, yeah, and text me when yer there.”

“Okay, Niall,” said Harry, biting his bottom lip to keep himself from smiling too wide. He leant forward and kissed Niall again, soft and sweet, his plump lips plush and warm against Niall’s.

“G’night, pet,” Niall whispered against Harry’s lips, eyes closed as he revelled in the feeling of Harry’s lips so close to his.

“Good night, Niall.”

After their final goodbye, Niall stepped back into his flat, tidying up a bit before getting ready for bed and going to sleep.

He woke up the next morning to a text from Harry.

_Good morning niall!_

It was followed by a selfie, a picture of Harry sitting at his breakfast nook with a mug—pale pink with the words _Treat People With Kindness_ printed on it in large black font—in his hand, the over-long sleeves of his jumper forming sweaterpaws. Niall didn’t think anything could be more adorable.

 _Your too fucking adorable you’ll be the death of me_ , replied Niall.

😊 _thanks Niall!_

Niall got up, making himself a pot of tea and dropping some bread into the toaster. He finished cleaning up from the previous evening, washing the plates and bowls that had been filled with crisps and dips. He rinsed all of the beer bottles and dumped them into the recycling bin.

When his toast popped up, he opened the refrigerator to get the apricot preserves and butter and found Harry’s bottle of rosé, still half-full, tucked on the door of the fridge next to the jam. Maybe Harry would like to finish it later that evening after they’d done their shopping at Phoenicia and got back to Harry’s house. He made a mental note to bring it with him when he went to meet Harry at his house.

At just before eleven o’clock, Niall left his flat and headed to Bickley, taking the bus to Harry’s home on Willow Close.

“Hi, Niall,” said Harry as he let Niall into his house. He leant forward and, lips quirked into a shy smile, leant forward and kissed Niall.

Niall kissed back, stepping closer to Harry and wrapping an arm around Harry’s waist. He pressed his lips more firmly to Harry’s. What had started as an innocent kiss became something a bit more. It wasn’t heated—Niall wasn’t sure if Harry would feel comfortable with a proper kiss with tongue—but deeper than the sweet peck Harry had given.

After a few moments, Niall pulled back, arm still around Harry’s waist, thumb tracing along the bottom of Harry’s spine. “G’mornin’, love,” he said, an almost cocky smirk on his face when he noticed Harry’s flush and slightly harshened breathing.

“Good morning, Niall,” said Harry on an exhale.

“Ya ready for our adventure?” asked Niall.

“Yes,” said Harry with a nod, the curls by his ears flopping.

They left Harry’s house about ten minutes later and headed to the bus stop, boarding the 208 to Queensway Petts Wood.

“Good thing our list’s not too long,” said Niall as they boarded the Thameslink to Kentish Town. “Be a pain in the arse to drag too many groceries all the way back to Bickley.”

“At least there are two of us,” said Harry, slipping his hand into Niall’s and joining him on a bench. “I’ve done it just by myself and it is a pain in the arse.”

Niall squeezed Harry’s hand reassuringly. “Ya won’t have to do it alone anymore.”

Harry smiled and leant to the side, resting his head on Niall’s shoulder. “Thanks, Niall.”

“Don’t have to thank me, pet,” said Niall. He placed a gentle kiss to the top of Harry’s head.

They arrived at Phoenicia about an hour later and Harry led Niall around the market, showing him the aisles of unusual ingredients and the unparalleled spice section.

“Wow,” said Niall. “Ya weren’t kiddin’. This is amazing.”

Harry beamed.

They found everything they needed—za’atar and date syrup included—and Niall insisted on paying despite Harry’s protests.

“Well, then I’m paying for lunch,” said Harry as he led Niall into the coffee shop and delicatessen, hand still in Niall’s as it had been for half of their time together since they’d left Harry’s house.

“Fine,” said Niall begrudgingly. Really, he thought, he just wanted to treat Harry to anything he wanted but maybe Harry felt the same way.

They ordered lunch, plates stacked high with broad bean salad and couscous, hummus and falafel, orange-stuffed olives and grilled aubergine. Niall agreed to try a Lebanese coffee with cardamom and, at Harry’s insistence, they bought some baklava and Lebanese nougat to take home.

Shopping bags in hand, and Harry’s hand again in Niall’s, the two lads made their way back to the Kentish Town stop.

Side-by-side on the train, bags between their feet and Niall’s arm around Harry’s waist, Niall said quietly, “This is nice, Harry.”

“Yeah,” agreed Harry, dropping his head to Niall’s shoulder and placing a hand on Niall’s knee.

“No. I mean”—he inhaled and exhaled, hoping he wouldn’t upset Harry with his next words—“Shawn never held me hand in public or let me- It was like he didn’t want people to know we were together. Maybe he didn’t want people to know he was gay.” He shrugged, Harry’s head bobbing with the movement. “Never really thought about it ‘til today. Never realised how repressed he was. How much he repressed me.”

Harry sat up, looking at Niall with wide eyes that reflected Niall’s hurt. “Niall,” he said softly.

“Yer different, Harry,” Niall told him. “Ya don’t make me feel like I shouldn’t be gay.”

“Niall,” said Harry again. His eyes were glazed with tears and Niall noticed his own tears on his lashes. “You shouldn’t- you shouldn’t feel like that. It’s okay that you’re gay. There’s nothing wrong with it. It’s good because- because now I have a boyfriend who I- I really like you, Niall. You make me so happy and it would- We’d probably be friends if you weren’t gay but, like, we wouldn’t be boyfriends and I couldn’t kiss you.”

“Shawn called ya faggy last week,” Niall told Harry, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to spill down his cheeks. “Said he didn’t know I liked faggy little boys. I never realised how homophobic he is. Told him to get the fuck out. I hope I never see him again.”

Harry looked like he’d been slapped across the face, his own hurt showing on his face now. “I—”

“I love how ya are,” Niall told him. “Yer not afraid to just be yerself and, like, and express yerself however ya want. Yer so confident and ya don’t even realise it. It’s- That’s one of the things I like about ya the most.”

Harry’s brow was creased, his expression unreadable. “You don’t think I’m… what he called me. D-do you?” he asked tentatively.

“No! O’ course not!” Niall rushed to assure Harry. He reached out and placed one hand on Harry’s cheek and the other at the nape of his neck. He bowed his head forward and pressed his forehead to Harry’s. “I think yer so brave and confident and just- Yer just so lovely, Harry.”

“I think you’re lovely too,” whispered Harry. “I want you to be happy, Niall. We can be- we can be so gay together. Or, like, as much as you feel comfortable being.”

Niall chuckled softly. “Okay, love,” he whispered back.

When they got back to Harry’s house a bit later, they sorted all of the groceries and put them away.

“I was thinking we could maybe cook dinner together tonight?” said Harry, a question more than a statement. “Maybe, um, like, spaghetti and meatballs? I have some spaghetti I made in the freezer and we could make meatballs and some tomato sauce.”

“That sounds good, Harry,” Niall told him with a smile. “I love cookin’ with ya. It’s like our little ritual or tradition or somethin’.”

They set about making dinner, Niall measuring out ingredients while Harry diced and minced onions and garlic and carrots for the tomato sauce and meatball mixture.

Niall started on the meatballs, mixing the ground beef and pork with garlic, parsley, eggs, and breadcrumbs, and then shaping them into nice meatballs. As he seared them in a big skillet, Harry stood beside him at the stove starting the tomato sauce.

Niall looked over at Harry and felt overwhelmed. He was unable to pinpoint anything in particular that made him feel that way but supposed it was just because Harry was with him, making him happy and bringing joy into his life. It was sappy, he knew, but he couldn’t help it. He grinned at the lad, wide and goofy and so fond, and leant toward Harry to kiss him on the cheek.

Harry turned and smiled back. “What was that for?” he asked curiously.

“Just because,” said Niall with a shrug, smile still goofy and happy. “You make me happy is all.”

They put a pot of water for the spaghetti to boil and left the tomato sauce to simmer, the meatballs cooking in the sauce.

“ _Stranger Things_?” asked Harry as he poured himself a glass of rosé.

“O’ course,” said Niall, accepting the beer that Harry handed him and following him into the living room.

They sat down and Harry turned on the television, opening Netflix and finding _Stranger Things_.

As the episode started, Harry took a sip of his wine before placing it on the side table. He pulled the blanket from the back of the sofa and, looking at Niall shyly, asked, “Would you- Do you want some blanket?”

Niall smiled and slid closer to Harry. “Yeah. I’d love some blanket.”

Harry spread the blanket over both of their laps and Niall wrapped an arm around Harry’s lower back, tugging the lad against his side. “That all right?”

Harry nodded. “Mmhm,” he hummed and Niall couldn’t help but think he sounded like a contented cat.

They were nearly halfway through the episode when Harry said quietly, tentatively, “You shouldn’t be ashamed of being gay, Niall. It’s not- it’s not bad or, like, a sin or anything.”

“I’m not ashamed of being gay,” said Niall honestly. “But I think Shawn was. Probably still is, I reckon. He was always sort of this weird, like, half in the closet and half out. Like, his family knew and our friends knew but I don’t think anyone at his job did. Think even our landlord thought he was straight. Think he thought I was pining after me straight flatmate.” He sighed quietly and felt Harry move his hand to lace his fingers with Niall’s. “I respected it because, like, that’s what he was comfortable with, I guess. But I didn’t really realise that it meant I was too. Half in, half out, I mean. He didn’t like me to talk about anythin’ that reminded people we were boyfriends, didn’t hold me hand or kiss me or anythin’ if we were in public. Could only be romantic and cute at home.”

Harry was quiet for a few moments, fingers still entwined with Niall’s. Finally, he spoke up. “I’m sorry he made you feel closeted. Like, that you couldn’t let everyone know you were in love. That’s- It wasn’t fair.” He turned to look at Niall and added, “I know it doesn’t, like, it doesn’t change what happened in the past but… I want people to know you’re my boyfriend. I have a boyfriend and he’s wonderful and I just- I want everyone to know!”

Niall smiled at Harry, an overwhelming feeling of adoration washing over him. “That’s all right, then,” he said quietly. He leant forward and kissed Harry softly, a gentle peck. “I want everyone to know yer my boyfriend. And that I’m yer boyfriend.”

Harry smiled, dimples deep and eyes crinkled and sparkling. “Good.” He gazed at Niall for a few moments—Niall couldn’t help but feel like the luckiest person alive—before turning back into his seat and moving back to rest his back against Niall’s front. Niall slipped his arms around Harry’s stomach and pulled him close.

They took a break from the telly after the episode they were watching ended, returning to the kitchen to boil the pasta and serve themselves the meal they’d cooked together. They ate at Harry’s small breakfast nook before heading back to the living room.

“Well, now what are we going to watch?” asked Harry as the final episode of _Stranger Things_ ended a few hours later.

“Ya heard o’ _Chilling Adventures of Sabrina_?”

Harry shook his head. “No.”

“Steph—my friend at work, ya know, who gave me some advice about you—she said it’s good. Recommended it,” Niall told him. “It’s on Netflix.”

“Do you want to start it tonight?” asked Harry. “Or is it too late?”

“Reckon we can watch the first episode,” said Niall, looking at his phone. “Not too late yet.”

When Niall left an hour and a half later, it was with plans for the next day and a wonderful kiss that set butterflies fluttering in his stomach.

“Don’t think I’ll get used to that,” said Niall as he pulled out of the kiss. “Them butterflies when I kiss ya.”

Harry’s eyes widened with surprise. “You get them too?”

“Course I do.”

“I thought- You’ve kissed someone before so I didn’t think—”

“Doesn’t matter that I’ve kissed someone before. Matters who I’m kissin’.”

Harry smiled, pleased and bashful and so sweet.

Niall’s happiness—his giddiness and his joy at Harry’s reassurance that he didn’t want to keep the true nature of their relationship secret as Shawn had—carried him through his trip home and stayed with him as he got ready for bed.

He was a bit surprised to find remnants of those feelings still flowing through his consciousness when he woke up the next morning.

 _Good morning love_ , he sent Harry as he soon as he sat up. _I’m so happy I met you_ 😘

Harry’s response came a few minutes later while Niall was turning on the kettle. _I’m happy I met you too Niall!_

Niall couldn’t wait until noon, eager to see Harry, to cook with him and eat their meal together and watch telly and cuddle.

He was happy that Harry looked just as excited to see him when he arrived at his house a few hours later.

The two lads spent the next few hours cooking, preparing their Ottolenghi-inspired menu while listening to music—Harry, Niall learnt, had an excellent singing voice—and chatting and stealing kisses.

Food finished and plated beautifully—Harry made sure to take pictures so they could show Meggie at their next class—they sat down at Harry’s dining table, tall taper candles lit and casting a warm glow.

They talked as they ate, laughing and joking and sharing stories. Niall remembered back to when he’d first met Harry, back to their second class when Harry had told him that he wasn’t very good at conversations and didn’t feel comfortable in groups.

“You told me that yer rubbish at conversation,” said Niall suddenly when Harry stopped talking to take a sip of his wine. “Back at ravioli. But- Harry, yer me favourite person to chat to. I love talking with ya.”

Harry set his wine glass down and smiled softly. “It’s different. Talking to you.”

Niall smiled back, their exchange from all those months ago still fresh in his mind. “Different bad? Or different good?”

“Different good.”

“That’s good then,” said Niall.

“Mmhm,” agreed Harry with a little nod.

Hours later, Niall and Harry were cuddled up on the sofa, an episode of _Chilling Adventures of Sabrina_ coming to an end on the television.

“Thank you, Niall,” said Harry quietly, voice a whisper.

“Hmm?” hummed Niall. “For what?”

Harry shrugged. “It was a nice weekend.”

“Yeah,” said Niall, tracing his fingers up and down Harry’s exposed hip bone. “Wish I didn’t have to leave.”

Harry sat up and looked at Niall, a pout on his lips that Niall didn’t think was really fair. “I wish you didn’t either.”

“I’ll see ya on Wednesday though,” Niall reminded him, giving him a light peck before turning to put his feet on the floor. “Got tacos to make, yeah?”

“Yeah,” agreed Harry, pouting as he followed Niall from the sofa and to the door. He watched while Niall slipped his trainers on. “It’s my turn to get wine. Or maybe I’ll bring beer this time. For tacos, you know.”

“Whatever ya want,” said Niall. “Ya know that.”

Harry blushed and Niall stepped toward him, placing one hand on Harry’s lower back just above the waistband of his trousers and the other cupping his jaw and cheek.

“God, yer beautiful,” Niall said. He leant forward and kissed Harry, firm and strong yet sweet and almost chaste.

Harry’s blush turned even rosier and he smiled bashfully as Niall pulled away. “Thanks, Niall.”

“I’ll see ya Wednesday, love,” whispered Niall, forehead rested against Harry’s and lips just inches apart.

Harry nodded, his head shaking Niall’s with the movement. “Bye, Niall.”

As Niall made his way home, he caught himself thinking just how wonderful the weekend really had been. He hoped that it might become something of a routine because he didn’t think he would ever tire of spending time with Harry, whether it was time shared with the lads at a pub or just the two of them at one of their homes while they cooked and talked and watched telly and cuddled.

Much to Niall’s happiness, they settled into a familiar routine as the next month passed. Saturdays became their “adventure days,” as Harry called them—days filled with outings to museums or speciality markets, movies and concerts and historical tours, new restaurants and some old favourites—and Sundays were spent cooking—they both liked to test new recipes and experiment in the kitchen—and cuddling while they watched telly.

They continued taking their cooking classes with Meggie, showing her pictures of dishes they’d cooked and others they’d ordered while they were out for lunch or dinner on their most recent adventure.

While Niall couldn’t pick a favourite part of their routine, he was thrilled that Harry felt comfortable enough with his friends that he joined them for drinks at the local every Friday night after work. He was even more thrilled that Harry had no desire to hide their relationship, that he was happy to show everyone—the lads, the other patrons at the pub, the staff, strangers on the street—that he and Niall were boyfriends. Simple things that he’d never thought too much about when he’d been dating Shawn, like hand-holding and sweet stolen kisses, seemed even more beautiful.

But with all of the time that Harry and Niall spent together, with all of the kisses and cuddling and hand-holding, they’d not slept together. Everything had been sweet, almost innocent.

Though Niall certainly wouldn’t break up with Harry if he only ever wanted to kiss and hold hands, he couldn’t deny that he was sexually attracted to Harry and he desired more.

It was at work one day while eating lunch with Steph that he finally gave voice to his thoughts.

“How are things going with your boy?” she asked, taking a sip of her water.

“Good,” said Niall. “Really good. He’s so lovely and we have a lot of fun together.”

“But?”

Niall shook his head. “There isn’t a but.” He frowned and reconsidered his words. “Maybe there is.”

Steph rested her elbows on the table and leant forward toward Niall. “What is it?”

“It’s just- Everything’s great. He makes me so happy and I love spendin’ time with him.” He furrowed his brows, trying to figure out how to say what he was thinking. “This is going to make me sound like a dickhead.” Steph shook her head and Niall continued. “We haven’t- Harry and I haven’t slept together. It’s- We kiss and cuddle and that but it’s- it’s all very innocent and, I don’t know, not, like, sexual.”

“Okay,” said Steph. “Maybe- Do you think he’s a virgin?”

Niall nodded. “Yeah. I mean, I’m his first boyfriend and I was, like- I’m pretty sure I was his first kiss. Was worried he was a bad kisser the first time we kissed.”

“Maybe he’s just nervous.”

Niall nodded again. “So am I, to be honest. I don’t know how to, like, how to start it. Initiate it or whatever.” He shrugged. “I don’t want to make him feel pressured into it if he’s not ready or, I don’t know, just make him nervous or uncomfortable.”

Steph frowned. “Do you think he might be asexual?”

Niall considered his friend’s words. “Maybe,” he said, feeling as uncertain as he sounded.

“My advice?” said Steph, taking another sip of her water. “Talk to him.”

She was right, Niall knew. He nodded. “Yeah. I will. Thanks, Steph.”

Niall wasn’t sure how to broach the subject with Harry but he spent the rest of his day thinking about it, trying to plan what he should say and how he should say it when he saw Harry later the next evening.

On his way home from work, he sent a text to the lads—a group chat that included Bird, Conor, Louis, Gerry, and, more recently, Harry—to see if they’d like to spend the next evening at his flat rather than at the pub.

By the next morning, it was settled that they would hang out at Niall’s flat that night. Bird and Gerry offered to bring beer, Louis said he would treat everyone to takeaway, and Niall said he would get a bottle of wine for Harry.

Niall was nervous all day, his thoughts filled with the conversation he hoped to have with Harry later that evening.

By half past seven, Harry and the other lads had arrived at Niall’s. They all sat in the living room discussing what they wanted to order for takeaway, deciding on Indian from a restaurant nearby.

The evening was pleasant; everyone chatted, ate, drank, and listened to music. Niall was surprised how quickly the time had passed when Bird got up and announced that he thought he would head out.

“Think I’ll go too,” said Gerry.

Soon, Niall found himself alone with Harry and his nerves.

“Hi, Niall,” said Harry softly, smiling sweetly at Niall from where he sat beside him on the sofa.

“H-hi, love.”

“Is everything okay?” asked Harry, looking a bit concerned. “You were really quiet tonight.”

“Everything’s fine,” said Niall, trying to sound convincing. “I- Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course, Niall.”

“Are you asexual?” he asked, blurting out his question and wishing he had scripted something.

Harry looked a little startled. “No,” he said after a few moments of silence. A touch of confusion painted his expression. “Why?”

“It’s just- We kiss and we cuddle and all o’ that. But we haven’t really done anything sexual,” he said, lowering his voice at the last word, as though the word alone would make Harry uncomfortable.

“I’m not asexual,” Harry told Niall. “I just”—he sighed, his cheeks flushing bright pink—“I don’t know what to do. I’ve never—”

“Yeah. I know, pet.”

Harry looked worried, nervous for the answer to the question he was about to ask.

“Is it- Am I disappointing?”

“What?” asked Niall, surprised, eyes wide. “No! O’ course yer not disappointin’. You’d- Even if ya never wanted to kiss me, ya wouldn’t be disappointin’! Just- I’m just happy to be with ya.”

Harry exhaled deeply. “But you want to… sleep with me.”

Niall nodded his agreement. “I do. Yer so beautiful, Harry. I’ve- I thought ya were fit the first time I saw ya.” He paused. “But only when yer ready, pet. Nothin’- Whenever yer ready. Even if that’s not for five years.”

“I am!”

“What?” asked Niall, surprised again.

“I am ready. For that,” said Harry shyly. “I just- Will you tell me what to do?”

Niall sat up and turned to face Harry completely. “Are ya sure, love? Are ya sure?”

“Yes,” said Harry, nodding vehemently. “I’m- I want to do that. I want to sleep with you. Just I don’t know what to do or anything and I’ll probably- I’ll probably be really bad.”

Niall shook his head. “I am sure ya won’t be.” He reached out and took Harry’s hands in his. “I’ll take care of ya, pet. Would ya- would ya like to stay the night?”

“Yes!”

Niall exhaled shakily. “Good. All right, then. D’ya—”

“Yes,” said Harry again.

Niall felt like he was in a dream as he led Harry to his bedroom, Harry’s fingers laced with his, and sat at the foot of the bed.

“Come on, love,” he said gently, patting the mattress beside him.

Harry joined him on the bed, turning to look at Niall and leaning forward to place a soft, sweet kiss to his lips. Niall kissed back, parting his lips and pressing his tongue to Harry’s lips. Harry gasped quietly and separated his lips, allowing Niall’s tongue into his mouth, and wrapped his arms around Niall’s neck.

The kiss became heated, Harry following Niall’s lead as he swirled their tongues together, lips moving against each other, sliding together, slick and slippery.

Niall moved one of his hands from where they both rested on Harry’s lower back and reached up, grasping at one of Harry’s wrists. He tugged Harry’s hand down and placed it on his growing erection. Niall laid his hand on top of Harry’s and began to move them back and forth, rubbing gently over his hardening cock.

“Yeah,” he moaned against Harry’s lips. “Like that, pet.”

“Like that?” asked Harry quietly.

“Mmmm,” groaned Niall, pressing down on Harry’s hand a bit more. Harry seemed to understand, applying more pressure to Niall’s length.

“Yeah, love,” moaned Niall again. He slid the hand that still rested on Harry’s lower back down a bit, resting it on Harry’s arse. He rubbed Harry’s bum. “Ya ever- Have ya ever—”

“I’ve masturbated before,” said Harry with a hint of amusement in his tone. “And I’ve got- I have a dildo that I use sometimes.”

“Fuck,” groaned Niall. “Take off yer pants, love, yeah.”

Harry nodded and leant back, standing from the bed and beginning to undress.

Niall felt overwhelmed, his hard cock pressed tight against the seam of his jeans.

“Are you going to,” began Harry shyly. “Are you—”

“Yeah,” said Niall, standing next to Harry and removing his own clothes, fingers clumsy as he continued to watch Harry strip. “Fuck. Yer beautiful.”

Harry smiled, his cheeks stained a lovely rosy blush.

Both finally naked, Niall pulled Harry toward himself, bodies flush together, and peppered Harry’s neck with little kisses.

After a few moments, he pulled back and moved to the bed, tugging Harry’s hand to get him to go with him. He climbed onto the bed and shimmied up so he was leaning against the headboard, a cluster of pillows cushioning his back.

“Come on, love,” he said softly. “Come sit on me lap and I’ll get ya ready.”

Harry got onto the bed and moved toward Niall. He stopped just in front of Niall’s spread legs and looked down at Niall’s erection. “Shouldn’t I, like- shouldn’t I give you- Shouldn’t I suck your cock first?”

Niall choked on air, Harry’s bluntness turning him on even more than he thought possible. He exhaled roughly and said, remembering that he’d told Harry he would take care of him, “No, love. It’s- it’s you tonight. Another time, yeah. I’ve dreamt about yer lips ‘round me cock. But tonight, it’s you.”

“Okay,” whispered Harry. He crawled to Niall and straddled his knees.

“Just”—Niall leant toward his nightstand and pulled out the little drawer, finding a tube of lube—“sit down, love,” said Niall, placing his hands on Harry’s waist and encouraging him to sit all of his weight on his lap.

Niall opened the lube and drizzled some of the gel onto his fingers. He reached behind Harry and moved his hands to Harry’s bum, fingers kneading at the supple flesh. His fingers moved between Harry’s arsecheeks and he stroked over Harry’s hole.

“Relax, pet,” he whispered, dragging his finger back and forth.

Harry dropped his head forward onto Niall’s shoulder and nodded.

After a few moments spent petting Harry’s hole, he pressed the tip of his index finger into Harry. Harry gave a choked whimper and Niall wiggled his finger, pushing it in deeper still.

“Open for me, love. Relax,” cooed Niall. “Get ya ready for me.” He pressed the tip of a second finger to Harry’s opening and slowly pressed it in alongside the index finger. “Look how good ya open for me, pet,” said Niall, voice low. He scissored his two fingers, feeling Harry’s tightness. “Relax. Going to go one more.”

Niall pulled his finger out so only the tips were stretching Harry’s hole and then pressed them in again, repeating the motion until he was fucking Harry at a steady pace.

“How’s that feel, Harry?” asked Niall.

“Ooooh,” whined Harry, eyes closed. “It’s- It feels so good.”

“Feel like yer ready for a third?”

Harry nodded against Niall’s shoulder. “Please.”

“Yes,” said Niall quietly, reassuring. He added a third finger to Harry’s stretching entrance, groaning as he felt Harry loosen a bit. “That’s good.”

He wiggled his fingers and began to move them in and out. “Still good?” he asked. “It’s okay, pet?”

Harry nodded again. “Yes. It’s- it’s good, Niall.”

Finally, when Niall felt Harry was ready, he removed his fingers from Harry’s hole and wiped them quickly on the sheet. He scrambled through the drawer of the nightstand and found a condom, unwrapping it and sliding it down his length.

“Okay, love. Yer going to ride me like this,” he told Harry, smoothing his hands down to the backs of Harry’s thighs. “I’m going to help ya. Do all the work for ya. Just bounce.”

Harry allowed Niall to lift him up, reaching down at Niall’s encouragement to wrap his fingers around Niall’s length and position him at Harry’s hole.  

Slowly, achingly slowly, Niall began to fill Harry up, dropping him down onto his length. He placed kisses to Harry’s cheeks, jaw, chin, neck, anywhere he could reach.

“So good, love,” he whispered in Harry’s ear. “Is it- How’s it feel? Are you okay?”

“Feels- It feels so good, Niall,” whimpered Harry, head thrown back as Niall slid in half inch by half inch.

When he was completely in, Niall lifted Harry up by the thick of his thighs and lowered him again, sliding into Harry’s hole slowly. He repeated the movement, lifting and lowering, lifting and lowering, until Harry moaned and said, voice broken and rough, “I’m going to—”

“Cum, pet, yeah,” Niall encouraged. “Come on. So good.”

Harry came, doubled over, head rested on Niall’s shoulder and breath harsh and heavy.

Niall made a few more shallow thrusts, cock rubbing against Harry’s stretched rim three more times, before he came.

He wrapped his arms around Harry and rolled him gently to the side, pulling his softening length from Harry’s hole.

“Going to clean ya up, love,” he whispered into Harry’s wavy hair.

Wiped clean and tucked into Niall’s bed a few minutes later, Harry spoke against Niall’s neck, lips plump and soft.

“Niall?” he said quietly.

“Yeah, pet?”

“I think, um”—he exhaled, breath tickling Niall’s throat—“I think I’m falling for you.”

Niall felt his heart beating double-time in his chest. “Me too,” he said, just as quiet. “I’m gone for ya, pet.”

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading! please come find me on [tumblr](https://littlemissmeggie.tumblr.com/) and say hi!
> 
> comments and kudos are always appreciated! 💕


End file.
